Coop Lee



you who swayed on stoop-steps and picked bits of teeth

from your knuckles, your fantasies, your crouched in blood 

giggles; monologues.

you who wrapped knives around tree hides, & in carvings

found your way back to the days of love

& dead wet leaves.

you who rattled in hate of sweaty girls but

smeared out on the boulevard for girls anyways

& made those girls sweat.

you who pissed in snow & wrote the names

of all those far-fallen friends & sisters, in one stream;

pacific coast highway.

you who soaked back in trans-fat pools to grip at tips

of teets & taste employment in its finest phase

of fermentation.

you who came hurtling down from hills & hallways

with navajo sidekicks, battle axes sweetened

in sugar powder flecks;

for flavor-waves while dying.

you who peeled skin from your fingertips in protest

of the war on whales, warping you irrevocably

down the path 

of a whisky avocado diet.

Altered Beast 

dad is in the garage.

weeks with the spark-light and piles of plastic


grandaddy laughs,

rattles the icebox for more beer.

the homemade android.

the thing

like a toy polished, it

dances for us in the kitchen. the dog

barking his endless barks in the backyard.

the thing, eyes wide, overheats

circuits popping into a limp body heap.

it dies

& molds in the garage.

the days.

the rain.

the cats under trees across the street.

the dog barking, chained, &



beneath a truck.

dad is in hysterics.

dad is in the garage,

for weeks, his soaked red knuckles.

mom drinking with grandaddy.

the dog.

the dog dances for us in the kitchen,

reboots and sits.

it digs a pit all night & buries three cats there.

he dog sleeps on that mound.

it never barks.

it waits there in the backyard, still

& staring into the trees.

the trees.

Coop Lee is currently packing up his belongings and moving to Oregon. He will get more writing done there. At least in dreams it goes that way. And maybe he'll meet a girl there. A terrible and lovely girl.

Illustration by Riley Burrus.

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