by t. zoEy benally

i just carried a box full of records
2 miles from the post office
home in the rain, semis throwing
small chunks of mud at me

i watched my significant other zip past
one mile from home, and i knew
deep in the aching muscles
of my shoulders, forearms, biceps
tired hand tendons, no relief
that i am no more obvious to him
than a mangy stray dog
and these are HIS records!

and before that, i exchanged emails
with an instructor that scheduled
the same day we are performing
at Sparrows Poetry Festival
despite my having informed him,
links included, several weeks before

i can see the wimpy dominoes
crashing into each other in a massive
tsunami that will wash all my work
towards graduating in May
down towards life's floor drain
where it will swirl, gathering
lost pubic hairs, dried snot
and swallow down crusted pipes
i will lose elective credits
my University of Michigan biostatistics
credits will expire, and i will end up
driving back and forth to ABQ
to retake these units, increasing
my risk of being taken out
by a glaanii, speeder
or sleepy person
on NM 550...

...and i type this trying to beat the clock
trying to slip under the wire
of the scheduled blogger outage
at 4PM PST!


one word: click
by t. zoEy benally

ninety degrees of metal bites 90 degree metal
silver teeth slide and click, crystal structure shock
corners pinch together, cubist shoulders rub
descend right angle staircases, 11 by seven


one word: pane
by t. zoEy benally

green bottles, brown bottles, clear bottles
recline atop rough cedar tree shade house beams
no doubt chopped, axe nibble, round and round
hands blistered, dribbled sweat burned eyes
now sun shines through improvised skylight
red and amber bottle pane watercolors
tortillas, roast mutton, chili, soda pop and salt

it's freaky that this word came back up on oneword again! fortunately i wrote something totally different than before.


sand under the guardrail
washed down from the hill
presumably headed to the river
small, dirty beach pooled
on concrete at the bridge edge
little pebbles and sticks lounge
no ocean waves lap, no wetness
for the pile of sand trapped
under the guardrail