the songbook is full
of songs left to sing
we didn’t wait long to end
the song present in the now
unwrapped from the box
where we sang tenuous tones
(originally published in The Piedmont Journal of Poetry and Fiction, Winter 2017)
Birthday
Renee on Her Birthday
we are anachronisms
different years in a lifespan
we drink wine
until we have nothing in common
out of our throats, dry and warm
we choke out laughter
which echo into absence
that we cannot seize
(originally published in FishFood Literary & Creative Arts Magazine, November 22, 2014)
From Mother
Live a long life, son. Eat noodles on your birthday.
Al dente. Do it every holiday, so I can live on long
past done spaghetti which sticks upon the wall,
frozen in time against the whims of dun sodden
dust and entities beyond the sounds of crying
from the bathroom at 2 A.M. beneath the black-
dripped canvas of luminous lights. The grass, uncut,
reaches far now above the frizzy tips of your hair
(originally published in The Birds We Piled Loosely – Issue #1)