here’s your evergreen nowhere blue sky eyewhites your
lust for your best life I mean here is the reason sister
to run into you at North Market its coffee shop
years after hopscotch your palm tree blood
underneath it sister the last time we stayed up past
4 AM watching nature documentaries searching
for birds it was a metaphor at the time flying
out each other’s eyes how we’d be wordless
(originally published in Reservoir, Summer 2018)
wish I still knew how to talk about games
movies television sports
blue fish waddling onto soil of questions trudges
leaves bodyprints wet move
closer to some common thread we may yet find
yet know a fishing line in the reel of your hand
mouth brain our friendship was incorrigible
as the moon in a poem in a lit mag
super nintendo and the cement unfinished
scent of basements carpeted staircases doritos
always going down down down
affection every thump downward
like the rest of life tumbling
through deserts of thought mist sandstorm
the sun wrangles some truth out of stranded
windows translucent sunlight
shifting across the wooden table
of distance time summers
(originally published in Scarlet Leaf Review, Summer 2018)
i bark at da ups guy not cuz i guess hes here to mess things up
but cuz hes here every day when ur not im wonderin y u go
away & y i cant come i would go anywhere wid u
so y does anyone go anywhere when im content ta sit where da staircase
bends & watch for u im afraid of knocks sometime somethin
bangin da door of what i name safe i sense da whole worlds fearin
& i can smell bad from a mile away deres so much of it i wag my stub
for makin it dis long . still i hope ull always come back from snow , rain
& surgery so i bark ur name da best i know when u return tho loud
& disruptive deres no different sound for love jus rattlin da home’s bones astray
wid my voice & wonder if some day itll all collapse sometime inta heaps of
forgotten timber & brick . id follow if u leave dat great clear barrier & return .
i spend my day lyin here thinkin of ways to tell u dat to shout
like from a mountain through da valleys as loud i can da whole clatter
best i know how like u do when u walk thru dat door
its da loudest thing : u fill my ears wid bells i can hear nothin beautiful else
(originally published in Delphinium, Summer 2018)
summer mugs me every time
muggy breath and hug of sweat
so hug me hold me let me know
I’m not a cloud who will sink
into a vapor or wave hissing mist
an atmosphere of melancholy hot
days that teleports me to L.A.
stargazing fame because anyone
who meant anything existed far
away celebrities or friends who
wait when you come home to drink
torpedoes in the square then explode
with laughter when telling them how
you lived everyday in a pile of socks
and neverending sunshine
(originally published in Abstract Magazine, Spring 2018)
I don’t know anyone
but the gnats swarming
around me &
next to me calls them
marriage begins with wings
then seeks blood
sucking glimpse of sweat
on skin sugar all the single
guests swat at the air
around them familiar
the way we complain
of heat so beg
for rain to form in
these shrouds of clouds
to cool us down
it’s nice to have something
tangible to wish for
(originally published in Razor Literary Magazine, Spring 2018)
Which is to say we kissed many strangers
today, so many mouths without knowing.
Both of us date someone else now, though
lock eyes through pinholes of cheap latex,
despite the guises’ vacant stares– these two,
skeletons. Admire the wrinkles of bendable
skull-skin. Remember our bones– last summer,
our bodies thin crackers. Could snap first sink
of snow but we survived last winter, the fall
of our alcoholism, nearly a year passed,
still fighting. I miss the bricked patios
of our Old North bars, sloshing ice cubes
around until disappearing into fog.
Only now, with new identities,
do we walk through the door.
(originally published in Midway Journal, Spring 2018; Nominated for Best of the Net)
around here. Every
three months then
you forget about it.
I’ve been off and on in love
with my roommate since the
day she moved in. November
rain, the red-bricked road,
I look out my window–
no cars on the side
of the street I parked on.
I scramble from my room,
her boyfriend in the hallway,
and I yell street cleaning!
His eyes bug up
and we race down
stairs to beat the tow
trucks but I open the door
to see cars parked around mine.
I tell him I’m going anyway
to check the signs–
which I do in my blue
flip-flops, waddling out into
wet grass to find
next week’s the sweeping–
and don’t we always
wait yet another week
to cleanse ourselves of what
we fear we don’t need?
A bad job
or incompatible lover.
For months they have fought
about necessary changes
neither of them will make,
and just last week
she told me
the cycle of her life
goes in years by threes.
The job, the lover,
the house, the dust.
There’s a chill. I’m not wearing
a jacket, so I go back inside
and tell him it’s next week–
but he’s known this for weeks.
(originally published in Columbia Journal Online, Winter 2018)
California leaves in smoke & flame
cigarettes you never touched
but your hands
on steel made a home
soaring over the evergreen
you called a bottomless lake
monsters deep in murk
in the way of work
was love &
you left the city
became the sky
(originally published in The Inflectionist Review, 2018)
In Kathleen’s apartment in Oregon,
I ask her where even is home?
maybe never knowing.
I see my mom’s mown lawn
in the green fields our baseball
team travels through, my friends
in tweets spitting scores or stats.
These, I don’t care about,
but I join in discussion.
Blue hands to high-five,
then to put my phone down.
(originally published in Hobart, Winter 2018)
The chairs we sit in are steel
horses, sad and dead. What you said
at the gallery in the warehouse was
to you, I have only given death and cookies.
Or corpses confused with candy.
Your cheeks puff, withdraw.
You’re silver in ceramic.
If I were a romantic I’d say
you belong in the painting.
Longing, always. But I am
a romantic. When we strolled
the botanical gardens we found longing
in the plants deemed poisonous.
How close I get to each sweet thing.
How close each is to death.
(originally published in Pif Magazine, Winter 2018)