Jonathan Hayes


)alien( mother ship
in our conversation
about her paranoia

questions from
another haircut

mother’s dead day

crunching on pills
like jawbreakers

little tooth
grows profound


[don’t go out]


of the month


she sits at the parlor table
a zodiac chart tattooed
on the white of her left eyeball

her baked and wrinkled forefinger
marks a small cross over your
right eye, during coffee and conversation

the tide whispers syllables to the seaweed…

Lynn, city of sin – go out the way you came in

driving down the vehement Atlantic highway
brine-poisoned waves flood

a language of paralysis

“X” marks the absence
of a circle’s undulation

there is nothing the blue whales can do

the fishlady has shucked your


answering machine

disinfect the phone
with stridex pads

the right hand of paranoia

[valium / volume]

6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1,

“i can’t ear you.”

fire-escape pigeon
mo moans groooans
when the party is over

useless urban soledad

white blinds drawn
eye no more play day
insects invading room

ringer off


coffee & photographs

historic tragedy:

the Bomb exploded
father’s semen, stained
lesion on her brain

every insect’s identity
in the room, registered

black invisible sweater
a chemical evanescence

good night good

waiting for the polaroid
emulsion of the past into
the now

little birds chirping in the sad City
heard through a red phone receiver

“the man on the hotline said they sounded nice too.”

the angels will let go of you
if you ask, but they

will continue to watch

Jonathan Hayes lives in San Francisco, California. He has taught poetry at 826 Valencia – a writing center for children – located in the Mission District of the City.

These poems have previously appeared in Zygote in my coffee, sidereality, realpolitik, narcolepsy arms, Muse Apprentice Guild. Se|gue & on a couple of poetry lists.

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