a belief in pipe dreams

I’ve no interest in the continuance. There are no bulls
in this rented wooden womb of an apartment
in which I wave my red and black flag, nobody sees
but the cats who seem not to care.
Amorous as a dishcloth, maybe
self-love is the only unconditional love
and I don’t even gift myself that.
If people could hear my piano I might be okay.
What school is this in which I’m flailing?
Which favorite shirt is cigarette burned?
Expressing confidence in your more unique qualities
comes naturally on a professional level
Your notorious ambivalence is a bigger problem
for others than it is for you.
It’s so hard
for the horoscope to be accurate
if you don’t interact with the world that surrounds.


Dear Kira,
    There is nothing interesting to drink here
and it is not yet noon
in our mutual Sunday, unless you’ve flown to Austria
or Bangalore. It is still Sunday in Austria
and Bangalore but it is way past noon
in Austria and Bangalore.
This is also true for places that are not Austria
or Bangalore.
            Don’t you think the ABC laws in this state are draconian?
I’d be okay with all of this
if offenders were assigned to pillory and post.
            During sleep we were in the same kitchen. I woke
and we are more separate than church and state, which, I know,
are separate as something conjoined.
    I wonder if I could shed this shell and grow wings.
Do you have a shell? No. I’ve seen you
and you have wings. You have wings and an aura that shits
upon the negative reviews of your living.
    An hour and fifteen minutes to go until noon:
Do you fidget as I fidget? 


Dear Kira,
         Do your days get this drab
or nah?
            I’m guessing nah
but if you’re human your years run along the spectrum
of possible experience.
            There is a light bulb above your head
and I wonder if you see it. Your decision to quit
something you didn’t desire
and hope the duck corpse floats favorably in your direction
is an admirable decision.
I am too cowardly for such bridges.
    I wonder what galvanizes you through your days.
I could use some of whatever you’re on.
Whatever I’m on only supports basic functions,
only the autonomic ones.
Whatever you’re on is on fire.
I could use some more fire and by more fire
I mean any fire. The birds do help,
a little.
Until certain stars do whatever it is stars do to align,

P.S. Couldn’t I just draw some that way
and see what happens? You’re the artist
in this crowd of two,
couldn’t you make that happen?

P.P.S. This is all as lovely as a tree in the road
the authorities won’t allow citizens to remove.

poem commissioned by a grant from a public park fence

I am in need of a persona rebranding. 


Nostalgia for Olivia
has me wishing for a bomb
not of my own making
but the making of a third party
something we can’t even get going
when it comes to murder
Goddamn sometimes
it’d be best if deities
weren’t considered an option

Cubs Win Cubs Win Cubs Win

I’m staring at wood paneling
asking for a way out 

IMG_3363 (2).jpg

Joseph Goosey lives in Southern Pines, North Carolina. A dropout of the MFA program at George Mason University, he is the author of four chapbooks including STUPID ACHE, published by Greybook Press.