All the days of work must one day
mean something, being the bastard
children of capitalism, camouflaged
labor, fingers rough from wanting
to swim financial freedom’s waters,
a belief formed from looking sky-
ward, a cosmic agriculture, roots
ever present beneath (and above)
the stadiums, what temporal
monuments we return to
day after day.
(originally published in The Waiting Room, Summer 2023)
we used to be musical soul
mates indie hipsters I guess
we got older I know we don’t
call Denver home in the thunder
storm under the oak by the nursing
facility it seemed good to call I
didn’t I lied to Andrew about
asking his mom to stay with her
he asked if I asked and I told him
I knew a place if he reads this
he won’t remember even now it
feels dreamed up like on a dark
Saturday evening in the feathery
backseat hammock of my Fiesta
(originally published in The Racket, Fall 2022)
you follow into every room I have
ever known the way a horse
finds redemption in the movement
of hooves tired of staring
at the same metallic sky hammer
pounding lowest cloud a kettle
in some makeshift brewery a fermentation
process brooding sour the wind the creaks
subtle days my shoes tied together
for small steps without stumbling
(originally published in Writer’s Block Magazine, Summer 2023)