I drove to Athens drinking Thursday
night a six-pack the darkness
of Wayne National Park guiding
me finally into another car I bumped
parking parallel then walked streets into
bars wandering until Pita Pit no one else
was watching youth pass by hummus
lettuce tomatoes olives a mess
at the table no one knew anything about
(originally published in Uppagus, Autumn 2018)
The city was dead when we went
so we intended to fill ourselves
with black magic found
in skeletons on the street.
Look how roots of fallen
trees meld with earth.
Go where lines still meander
on your palms–
we did not share with ghosts
when we reached the end,
no words whispered into steam
of dim lights and Darjeeling,
no further graffiti for your blue
telescope eyes peering through time
to the origin of your cosmos, when
your essence poured from your sleeves
but carried less starlight than it does now.
(originally published in The Stray Branch, Spring 2018)
I showed you how pawns function
on a glass chessboard
they sacrifice themselves to protect who they love
and what rooks and knights risk
in the modern age
there is a hierarchy in how to approach things
cigarette smoke permeated the wooden air
a phonograph streamed Brahms
I could never quite understand complexity
we sat on couch crumbs with our jeans touching
your friend gave me a rare Bahamian seashell
mottled with beige and caramel
I could not hear the ocean
no matter how hard it pressed against my ear
but with my head against your chest
I remember the beating tide
back then I was composed of sand
scooped whole by strangers hands
learning the gravity of myself
before dissipating
one day
I will build you a castle
(originally published in Walking is Still Honest, Summer 2016)