I like my poems; I guess that's all I can say about them. They're not for everybody. When the Wrong Words Get Said Car-tire against gravel, rough smell of beer and roasted corn, heat-lightning like a sine wave loops across a pit of gray sky between pole-light and the quiet barn; the low of cows, moonshine slips in like a tongue through the treeless hedge fence; the empty faces of women glow, a child in shirtsleeves gums an apple while the mutt runs a rough circle around the feet of your friends, pissing every time someone raises a hand. Your wife says fuck it. Goes to bed. Shuts the door. Says go ahead and drink. Be with your friends. Wrong words get said. Your head breaks like a fist against a stone wall, knuckles feeding fire. Somewhere the swollen lips of angels call you home, but before you go smash-mouthed in to the house to watch your kids breathe, stagger into your marital bed, you tongue-kiss a seventeen-year-old, realize the sweetness i...
Like the title says.