When I was homeless, I snuck into gyms.
Browned shower floors with footprints.
A rose inside curtains’ slow steam,
I became an endless bloom,
tongue lapping the head.
(originally published in Pidgeonholes, Spring 2018)
drought
Injured (Like California)
Los Angeles was a chance, a retreat.
The army of cars sounded like firecrackers,
or security.
The rain somehow escaped.
The hideout was flight: the highway
a drug, a prison.
California was injured– a people debris.
The mountain was a wounded relief–
the face of thunderstorms.
(originally published in 3by3by3 – October 18, 2015)