Pyramids

Whatever myth you have of pyramids,
I want to hear. I can barely untie
apron strings behind my back

let alone move slabs of stone in
desert sand. I want to wake
early and run inside the bursting

triangles of sunlight but when
I start to tell you, I catch myself
already in a lie.

(originally published in Academy of the Heart and Mind, Fall 2020)

Cadey Mercury

my relationship’s been
a dull landscape with volcanoes

walking the surface of insomnia
5 A.M. in bed eyes closed orbiting

my sun her radiance
gently snoring

I often fantasize
another world

gray plains and craters
rock flings bordering

space too shapeless
to call dark

one desire millions
of miles apart

another right here
floating stone sphere

I am cold November
awake and under cover

an eternity to evaluate
my position in gravity

our love
sometimes unwieldy

and always on
the periphery

of shining

 

(originally published in Rune, Spring 2019)

Boneless Wings

Following a trip to Vegas
in August heat, my skin itched
for good. I ended us. No,
you said. We were a done deal.

You would not leave.
We drank juice and vodka
to forget we had ever
talked about forever.

We rode a Lyft to BW3
at 2 P.M. on a Thursday
because a cheap happy hour
is a kind of grim reminder.

We ordered boneless wings at the bar.
The bartender told us ignition is cheap.
Beer stripped us to tender meat
and there was no more steam.

You stepped into the breeze
when you went outside to smoke.
We locked ourselves out–
the clouds produced rain, not keys.

(originally published in Hedge Apple, Spring 2019)

Autumns by the Ocean

over dark beds of leaves
twigs and string I was full
of hope and hoping there
a remnant of vacation
a connection to the sea
perhaps the nerves
lost singing
through the night I walked
alone on sand the
dogs came barking
from the Atlantic
drenched and draped
in seaweed and I thought
of familiar love how
unbroken longing forever
intertwines in the bending
gravity of the moon

 

(originally published in Plum Tree Tavern, Spring 2019)

Interview with Marissa at Panera

Sitting across the small table in the company of bagel
art and clanking dishes transported from trash to the back,
she asks no questions about what I’d bring to this table,
just asks about my experiences working with The New
York Times and making ends meet in studios by the sea
in southern California, how different that life was,
how, starting Friday, I’ll make a good delivery driver

 

(originally published in The Literary Nest, Spring 2019)

Exorcism

Truth is, I’ve lost my motivation to do anything but motivationally speak
to myself silently in my head & that’s why I’m meeting with Gray
at a cafe later to work on outlines for short films we’ll never shoot &
that’s ok because the sun has filled my cup of coffee with bad ideas
I won’t act upon & that’s the useless scroll I call the timeline of my
life– truth is, I recall the night last July we nearly killed ourselves
playing Ouija downing a bottle of Absinthe & even the wormwood
couldn’t compose phantasms in our minds though we tried–
knees rocking in dark candlelight, hands clasped in prayer, a cat
named Spirit haunting the hallowed grounds– we had the ghosts
if we wanted them. Now we want them out.

 

(originally published in Studio One, Spring 2019)

First Christmas Together

your family sits atop a graveyard
I recall my Catholic upbringing
its subsequent tumble through adulthood
wringed out through cigarette smoke

the last time I felt like a pothole was
the gym last week the oceans of muscles
lapped with saltwater oozing out of bodies
or maybe at work I am new always

on the purple carpets asking
every authority how to be zen
page ends with staples scattered
beside the fluorescent printer

with your family I guzzle and mix each type of
sparkling glass and dark concoction offered until
my quiet disappears and my rambling becomes
a kind of buzzing within the hive of the room

 

(originally published in 24hr Neon Mag, Winter 2019)