in a crowd
no different than
beside a tree
(originally published in Jokes Review, Summer 2017)
on your way from Los Angeles
to New York, I’ll tell you
there’s nothing to do here but drink
can you see our friendship
gripping skeleton bottles?
before we stumbled into every hazy bubble
of unfilled expectations
we called L.A. city by its name
then other cities called our names
like somewhere in this world
(originally published in Red Fez, Winter 2017)
I am a sun-drenched willow field withered and
purple. Headache remiss, wonder when the liver
will churn its nightly clarion call, squeezing rags
to drag the water out.
Sometimes the nights are like that in the silence
between friends. The drafts replace talking.
You can’t hear the words with breath so still
and distant, willows soon awakening.
(originally published in Transcendence Magazine, Summer 2016)