The answer is perpetuate
humanity. The answer is nothing
is certain, but we know that.
We will go into the shrouded
wood as the sun sets onward,
as the world spins through
another autumn getting older,
not wiser. The leaf flutters.
What we want to catch
always eludes our grasp.
(originally published in Roi Faneant, Fall 2023)
Out of all activities
to do in the world,
we choose to watch
what melts. The sugar-
frosted grass, low hills, love
of our red-brick building.
If our conversations
are jet streams, if high-
altitude, high stakes,
tension– let me
please leave and be
reborn as something cold
and forgettable.
What dinosaur wanted
to become a fossil?
In our years together
we accumulated enough
to burrow deep into
the earth. Millions
of years from now,
what some sentience
will discover is that
we were once separate.
(originally published in The Field Guide, Fall 2023)
So fruitless is the search,
any search. I thought
the wetness of fresh
strawberries were
diamonds but I am still
poor, though my
spirit rages bright.
The ghosts of my
grandparents are
working hard in
the nothingness
of afterlife.
When it is my time,
they will be at an airport
holding a sign with
my name, waving
wildly as an oak
during a storm.
I will wave back,
not knowing
the ubiquity
of rain.
(originally published in The Beatnik Cowboy, Winter 2024)
I want to splurge on dive bars and thrift stores
I want a shore brimming with relics
in our endless quest for cash
in our ceaseless self-tweaking
I wish I were young again
instead of scrounging for change
this time I would do with less greed
more humility
without peaks
without verdicts
I’d be a sip of Scotch whiskey
a tyrant with a mild vice
who would admire the painting
without caring who painted it
(originally published in Winamop, Winter 2024)
When Josh lingers at the end
of the workday, I think of Stand
By Me: kids’ backs covered
in leeches in the woods–
can’t push away or peel
him off, his limb-thin branches
that walk out into the dark
parking lot and back in
to bug us, again and
again, scribbling his
footprints all over concrete
in a scuffmark infinity.
I have never seen someone
so happy to have shot someone.
He returned one
weekend from Albany,
roaring with energy, eager
to tell the whole office
that burglars stole half-
million dollar lamps
from his house, but he’s
glad they did not get it
all, and how he perched
for several hours on his
staircase, alongside the fading
sun– the story convoluted
and convulsed in his hands,
the several times I heard
it told in the hallway,
in the kitchen, showing
photos of hideous antiques.
He claims to know they would
be coming. And that he
was getting updates
on the critical person’s
condition, and the words
come bursting out of his
mushroom cloud mouth
that he would have loved.
(originally published in Toasted Cheese Literary Magazine, Spring 2024)
the carcass hangs
someone
try one on
(originally published in Versification, Summer 2023)
there is no end
to wanting a better
anything. I have
driven through
stop signs on rural
roads in afternoon
light envisioning
the reality where
I have arrived
faster at our house
and you’re happy
about it for those
few extra seconds
but time is fog
that dissipates
anyway, being
that yesterday
we loved each other
and today we
are sitting at the top
of the stairs to our
bedroom petting
the cat who survived
our downfall
and mourning the one
whose heart clotted
because of it. you
notice bubbles of
water in the blue
textured wall and
we burst into
the day’s remainder,
moving temporary
belongings around
again, this time
with no effort
of emotion, no pull-
each-other-closer
because the house
has seen its share
of endings and
beginnings, I’m
sure, if we are
to frame it in
those terms
already the memories
have taken control.
(originally published in OPEN: a journal of arts & letters, Fall 2024)
but the sun still floats past 8 PM
& I wonder where time went
sunk in the blue glow
of overheating machines
it is Monday
and everyone hates Mondays
because this past weekend
I went to a house concert
in the state I once lived in
only to return to the wheel
and drive a few marathons
windows open music loud
past spontaneous roadkill
and honeybee fields
last night I slept on a pile
of unsigned documents
dreamt of paper cuts
and Parochial school
I bought green bananas
for the office
and by the end
of the day
they were brown
(originally published in The /temz/ Review, Spring 2025)
In your dream you murdered me.
I am just happy you dreamt of me.
Carried chopped pieces
of me in your tote bag, hid me
under your sink among the grocery
bags and water stains. In the second
half of your dream, you said
I got out from under the sink
and said I got you! And I always
will, pieces of you I carry
with me, your proverbial
heart in mine, your eyes
locked in mine, your
subconscious wrestling
our not-so-tiny distance,
where when I moved
I thought you’d never think
of me, that what you’d carry
was the end, the sloppy end
with the broken bones,
the cut-up conversations,
the disjointed hugs in
summer heat, the space
we loved to share, daylight
hours a cool shade
of blue, a shield
in which we wished
for our shadows
to never escape
or at least hold
the other’s fading
light. I never want
to be surprised
when our paths
cross next in life,
how I miss the days
you’d inhabit all my
dreams, days,
the whole field
and the entirety
beyond.
(originally published in The Pierian, Fall 2024)
the provision
the carcass
provision
the carcass
a carcass
to provide
the carcass
blaze
(originally published in Roi Fainéant, Fall 2023)