I am begging for you to be well.
At Spirit in Lawrenceville.
Lung cancer
I can’t
stand this for you. I
love you enough to know
this world
is too crowded without
you & me standing
around, heads bobbing,
at another live show
at a smoky dive bar,
asking each other
what we want next
& how much more
dearly in this life can
we stand to lose?
(originally published in Ink Pantry, 2025)
The only photograph of us we ever took was
at Thursday’s Lounge, on an ancient phone from
ten years ago. Your boyfriend at the time snapped
us, smiling, in front of the liquor selection. Neither
of us realized it would be years until the next time
we would meet again. Since then, I have acquired
a mountain of phones, piled somewhere in storage.
And while I want to find this picture for some kind
of momentary joy, I cannot hope to find one such
antiquity in a landfill of antiquities. I know the
memory has become warped, muted, fuzzy.
Since I’ve seen you, we have both compiled a
mountain of loves, relics embedded within
ourselves. The brain’s complicated wirings–
circuitry functioning enough to remind me
we were, briefly, more than a photograph.
(originally published in AvantAppal(achia), Spring 2023)
Vodkas ignite a serious conversation we sing cacophony
our mouths open machinery in the room whirs the gears
clank and then the whole dark bar lifts its legs and flies
no windows though
we perceive sudden shifts as turbulence impending
storms we move as far from as we can talk about
(originally published by Mad Swirl, Winter 2022)
at Grist House the day is everlasting
& we have just lived
through a pandemic.
August sun shining
I feel like an emperor
owning the day
til its end
the sandwich trucks
& hot dog carts
all of my life is good
we have just lived
through another
week under
shade of the
everlasting days.
in all my life
how many
days
will
I ever
get to feel like this?
a hundred?
maybe
in only eighty
years I need to
count
my inventory
(originally published in Statement Magazine, 2023)
dancing hip to hip loud
music between barriers we
set to bear how we have
nothing only bags of ice
only names holy in other
tongues & here unrevered
just the music of a name
o brothers I waited so
long to arrive but here
you were already.
(originally published in White Wall Review, Spring 2023)
I skip pebbles in milk
while Colorado calls
my name an open field
prayer hands clasped
with two best friends
I have not seen
in years pass clouds
over the Rockies and I
am drunk staring at
my past blue yearning
the rain-drenched range
I write and ring cells
still new cities call
my name with headphones
on I play The Last of Us
in dark glow hands reach
for two best friends I sit
in silence happily
(originally published in Pennsylvania Bards Western PA Poetry Review, Spring 2023)
I shuffle through memory for
a single midnight. What did we do
at school? Redeem gold tokens
at Swings ‘N’ Things? Cleveland led
me to lake by leash. We listened to Feist
among lilacs and buttercups. We lived
near the airport, never flew. I shouldn’t
keep money for unusable transactions. What
a concept, after the drinking started. If darkness
is inevitable, please invite me to your party.
(originally published in Dear Reader, Summer 2021)
What became apparent in the French Quarter–
what brought me there– wasn’t shattered glass
bottles on Bourbon Street, but that all actors
must at some point visit, then become so
wasted everyone laughs before fearing what
they might do next. Still, I drank the days
then sang Psycho Killer at a karaoke bar
so dehydrated I collapsed from back spasms
because I wasn’t enough myself,
and DJ Mud stopped the song when I fell
on the floor writhing. I told him to go
on and everyone howled as they
waited for me to stand on my own
and cheered when I did. Someone
bought me another drink
and I walked out through drunken
tourists and cops on horseback
into the middle of the street
near the end of a long road trip
that burned through my savings
to land me renting a room in a
house where each day I wake
still drifting and dreaming.
(originally published in Pomona Valley Review, Summer 2020)
after inflatables
and Friday night I went to the House
after making fun of King
Kong with the brothers
Dance Marathon we first talked
then went to Pizza King with Dabs
accepted oxygen in my water as trees
dead napkins we returned to Constitution
played sober via HORSE
with bottle and recycle bin
earlier I helped Gary with the Poker Mixer
it was either the cheesy bread
or Gatorade that got me
we went to Walgreen’s for beef jerky
along the way we stopped at Sara’s for Orloff
at Fisher’s for refried beans
(originally published in Literary Forest, Fall 2022)
Doesn’t matter how much dark red
wine you drink, the clock always
ticks westward to the setting sun,
the city lights flickering on when
lips are dry and winter recesses
so blackbirds can meander across
the morning’s bluegray sky then
perch along powerlines to watch
as you walk to your car this warm
January morning, beads for eyes
everywhere
(originally published in The Academy of the Heart and Mind, Fall 2020)