my skin carries the radiation of phone
glow the radio. Of something static
O Arizona. Azure eyes & sandy
cries just an echo. I want to say I am
hallowed. That I carried your branches
with me too as extra arms but I am
night and limb- and lone- liness.
I am spider I am timeless. If I may
please say another thing about deserts
we share an emptiness.
(originally published in Academy of the Heart and Mind, Fall 2019)
Often, before a haircut, I make
the joke to a friend– I don’t know
if you’ll recognize me later!
In the chair, the barber holds
scissors, removes my glasses.
His form blurs in the mirror.
At the conclusion of a cut, I
must accept the physical
implications of my new self.
But my friend Kurt once said
in each moment we become
a different person, our atoms
scrambled with each second’s
footstep, our hairs scattered on
the floor– they, too, rearranging.
(originally published in Miranda House Philosophy Magazine, Spring 2021)
Wild this wind in Pittsburgh–
I am Bukowski reformed
twisting through steel
structures teeth gleaming.
Synthesis of former lives–
Columbus, Los Angeles
drunken pursuit of art
now an upstream leaf.
Marginalia within pages
of tattered library books–
I’ve so little to say you
hear a deep, empty well.
To march back into
my film-reel past
and gloss over poetry–
ghost cleaning gutters.
Allow some space
within my wanting.
My heart an old lens
zooming into the river.
(originally published in The Aurorean, Spring 2020)
Today, babies are hungry,
the spirit is crying, but all
we want is an end to war.
Some babies get fed.
This is the time to walk.
(originally published in Cirrus Poetry Review, Fall 2019)
The growth inside you, you can only
guess exists– the strengthening
malignant allium a tumor blossomed
& when your stomach fails to digest
you leave your house in pain to meet
me at the bar & fuck, you needed a job
with benefits but I, too, lack insurance
& down downers at happy hour. You
tell me nothing solid settles
anymore. What you eat eats you
& I fear, soon, you will not eat.
(originally published in Agapanthus Collective, Spring 2021 – nominated for Best of the Net)
You know how much is too much but
you shake the bottle anyway over browned
grilled cheese sandwich and bite in.
The things you think you can get away with–
oh, the tiny fires you’ve stepped across in
the temple of your longing. Little dabs of red
on canvas– the meat of the situation is you’re
taken but, Lord, the flame goes hallelujah blue.
I’m speaking a poetry of pigs. Relationship
as slaughterhouse. Relationship as bacon
you want to slather lust all over.
(originally published in Adelaide, Fall 2019)
Again, a rainbow sprouting from your violin–
no, it’s no light. You never wanted to mother.
Music was the way– adagios hanging from
the clouds. But God had something in store–
come on.
What happened was we were drinking herbal tea
and you told me of new pregnancy within these
silent walls of our favorite coffee shop and I said
I’m sorry, I’m sorry because I didn’t know what
else to. And you said it’s okay, it wasn’t you, just
I had to tell someone. Because you no longer
write symphonies. The instrument collects dust in
your closet– where’s the music? We ask. You
answer: inside, swelling. If there’s one thing
you must hear, she will be a cadenza.
(originally published in Chiron Review, Fall 2020)
I am singing some purple note,
hoping to be caught fish-style
with hook by some greater talent.
Because there is a lake in me
emptied. And I have given
all my love, spent a
Ferris wheel ride
wondering at the skyline
if all the buildings
in the distance
will soon collapse
at the weight of
my own willingness.
(originally published in Ygdrasil, Winter 2021)
I wanted
seen
all those years
in the mirror
managed
by dream
as a kid
besieged
wasn’t easy
fangs
on the
river
Walk
of Fame
time
to go back
and tell kids
the color
possible
is alive
(originally published in WINK: Writers in the Know, Fall 2019)
there is a limited amount
of space on the futon
to absorb sun because it is
another day in (x) of them
they are staring as I say this
in my pantsless existence
with feet pressed together
on sweaty carpet
(originally published in Raw Dog Press, Spring 2022)