I am enough to fail you, too. Thanks.
Thanks again. What you’re advertising is
you’re not going anywhere. A pebble in a
puddle. A train softly humming in the past.
The cat scratches at a door you never open.
(originally published in The Heartland Review, Fall 2019)
Blackbirds suspended in triumvirate.
Clouds in a sea of burnt clay
mold into a blanket, the bed
unmade. Every beautiful sunset,
see the others on their phones
snap photos for strangers,
likers, digital lovers.
Lowball grandeur on a
It’s gone in a moment, anyway,
the pixelation of life,
Palm trees stand as windmills,
stilled, and they cannot fan
the vertical Culver sign,
risen like held smog.
Headlights on cars move
indistinguishably in time-lapse circles,
one after the other after the other.
(originally published in The Literary Commune – Issue #4, April 2015)