is a drill I am filling holes
in the days my worn-out jeans
piled on plaids & flannels
in a bag of old saliva
& I didn’t listen
when you asked–
no, pleaded–
take care
the whir of the
overhead light
looms
over every scrape
(originally published in Ink Pantry, Winter 2022)
When the pain becomes
knives, you– bent over
by the mirror, clutching
your abdomen– straighten
your hair, put on make-
up. Beautiful people
get treated better. That’s
a fact, you said as I
drove. This is our third
ER trip in three days,
and today, finally, the
trauma team identifies
the piece of you that
needs removed. After the
diagnosis, I notice the sterile
painting on the wall.
A field, and what little
it contains. I talk–
an attempt at distraction–
imagine this being the last
piece of art a person ever
sees. Brush-stroked
delphiniums in the
grass, swaying,
the lake then light-
house that ascends
into blue. You look
for a long time.
(originally published in In Parentheses, Winter 2022)
Upon the gum’s shore,
a body beaches–
abscessed tooth of
sand.
How the mouth learns
to chew
diamonds–
the glint
of blood.
Soon, this is ritual.
Don’t confess
your ailing–
let bleed from morning
into next.
The dentist says
don’t drink– so
consume the ocean
of the night
and float
yourself to sea.
(originally published in former People, Winter 2018)
Gates clot with distance: other thickened loves not directly related
to active devices are increasingly important for post-fabricated
hearts to facilitate not only process control, circuits, electric life,
but also accuracy of simulations critically dependent on parasites–
your fundamental process parameter.
A thinner gate enables smaller, faster transistors to critically affect
hearts: techniques were developed to provide accurate values.
X-ray photoelectron spectroscopy: you materialize as light
witches on. Auger electron spectroscopy: hold the sun in its light.
Secondary ion mass spectrometry. Transmission electron microscopy.
And the meaning lost in poetry.
And you I lose in visible light.
(originally published in The Icarus Anthology, Summer 2017)
(originally published in Belletrist, Summer 2017)
the pharmacist
in her white coat
behind the coffin counter
instructed me to call the one-
eight-hundred number
but one plus eight equals nine
and nine is the first number
in nine-one-one
and there are two zeroes
in one-eight-hundred and
two ones in nine-one-one
and if you rotate the number
it’s a four-story building
crooked at the hollow nest
and what of the four
zero floors –
the barren families, pine
and needle. They scrape and dial
my throat’s frigid tones,
white shell.
I chewed my gum and thought,
what a pleasant sound ducks’ feet must make
when they waddle.
soft-boiled trampolines.