Trust Issue

Neither of us know
signs to look for

when the other
talks to another.

Glances become knives.
We fling blades

onto caution signs
which clang

then lay
dull

until the sharp
of morning.

(originally published in Thirteen Myna Birds, Fall 2016)

Ruins

Bullets ricochet
in every entered home
and they are similar
to ballet, a delicate

do not fall wherever
you cannot stand back up
but pirouette anyway– every room
spins the opposite of you.

II.

Hair on the surface of bleeding
bricks. The house of
violent storms. Mortars
with every step.

III.

Heaven, the insurance premium,
costs far too much.

IV.

We are legless because
we cannot stand. Wingless
because no one believed
we would fly again.

During construction,
no one built us for the long-term.
There are nails in every crook
of skin– every place you look.

(originally published in The Black Napkin, Summer 2016)

shoes grind
gravel

motors burn
oil

i think of god as spat
bubblegum clinging

to the cycles
of our soles

(originally published in First Class Literary Magazine – March 30, 2015)