when I say my father is homeless, I mean:

a funhouse version of himself laughing,
an eclipse where his mouth should be.

so smart. Just like him.

he fell off the roof one Christmas
& kept on falling. The snow embraced him
like the open sea swallows a sinking ship.

dad vs. the State of California.

I am talking about criminalities.
I am talking about the act of committing a crime
as inseparable from being a criminal.

my face is a long stretch of unshaven
years, stacked neatly on the tile.

each implosion is entirely my fault
(it is not my fault
but it is, still, entirely my fault).

a portrait of god in his sunhat, shears poised
before an unsuspecting shoot of green.

I no longer wish to be called honey,
shrink from your touch.

my story is changing. I cannot remember
what is real & what is just a name.

fuck the government. Fuck the law,
the police, the purse-clutchers,
& every asshole with a brand-new car.

an alternative phrase
for airing your dirty laundry is
I have nowhere left to hide.

I made a mess of it, drank myself stupid
& rode that white line like a bronc.

the record is stuck. A scratchy repeat:
just like him.

each year feels more & more like a dare.

shame is a debt unpayable. Please,
don’t make me explain.