The bowtie light switch has a mustache.
What does that say about me? I’ve spent
too much time seeing whatever I want
in office objects. Tape gun forklift.
Soap giraffe. All I want is to love
what I have however diminutive
the love, however diminutive
the day stretches out in consuming
all other days. My endless
imagination boards me
on its paper airplane,
the rock slungshot the first
time I read a book and never
arrived at my destination.
(originally published in OpenDoor Magazine, Winter 2022)
imagination
Multimodality
too many avenues to take
to achieve [what]?
goldfisted, I punch Jupiter
through the rings
I’m bound to. a racetrack
this zipline I cling
to the forest not the tether
nor the trees many
branched and beholden
to gravity I seek
to lunge headfirst
through the brush
renewal in sharp
sticks and scrape
the surface of
what composes me
(originally published in Ginosko Literary Magazine, Winter 2021)
In His Youth
He drowned the world–
a wonder, not a caution signal.
Back then, it was possible
for a dog to become a horse,
for food never to become weight,
for sunsets to reward long days
of biking in circles around
the yard’s dead walnut tree.
(originally published in The Wayward Sword, Summer 2018)