hang a horse
watch her body pale
& slacken
I want a California girl
thin legs
skin smooth as shale
the horse
my gallop from
stable
a race
no one
will win
(originally published in The Blotter Magazine, Summer 2017)
LA
In a Mouth / In a Pool
there’s nothing but teeth
and sky and sharp wind shrieking
out until slapped / skin and sunbreak
risen water suspended after a cannonball
plunge / eyes closed we split
through chlorine like we’re chemically
bound / to renewal but how artificial
we fill ourselves with air and float / eyes
up at the clouds and a single plane
descends / toward LAX and we know
how it ends: a little shake / in the landing
and diminished speed recalling
the turbulence / that dove
from glass mansions
(originally published in After the Pause, Fall 2017)
By the Door
Your mud. Here,
we count days.
We walked Santa Monica
to the ocean. There, we removed
our shoes. Held them
by spines to dip
our feet. I love where
we have been. The more we walk,
the less we know. Either way it ends
yet the water takes
and takes, and by the door
we wait.
(originally published in Northampton Poetry Review, Summer 2017)
Taylor Swift
The sand is sung
until a throat bleeds
and camels walk
the blank space
of a desert song:
animals streaking
the whole long day
to share an oasis
with you.
(originally published in Picaroon Poetry, Summer 2017)
Love Poem (2014)
Since I first saw your face
shine from a stage and again
in desert sun and through cool,
desert night, you always felt right.
We are soaked now in swimming
pools and sands pooled near
the coastline’s swaying smile
that thrums for us; and here,
water kissing submerged feet
anchored in each other.
(originally published in Eunoia Review, Winter 2017)
November, 2014
Over the weekend
we ingested paranoia,
the green hue of the room
obscured by smoke.
The fragile wings
of dreams left our lips
chapped, kisses more static
than electric.
(originally published in Ginosko Literary Journal, Summer 2017)
To Never Return to L.A.
I hiked through the backwoods of Yellowstone
wondering why my life did not change
with every step. That beauty could
become so manufactured. Looking over
another massive canyon– my third in the west
in three days– what’s so good about it?
You could fall into adventure, sure.
You can fall into anything.
Love, of course. Art.
Self-loathing.
Escape.
I drove aimlessly for three months,
watched landscapes lose their painted strokes.
The bristled edge of sky inside me turned
and dried, brought me back to deserts I camped in
on the side of the road many freezing nights,
my breath the hot air on windshield,
blocking my sight of stars,
those lost things guiding me
that smog made me forget.
(originally published in The Bitchin’ Kitsch, Summer 2017)
I Used to Film the Ocean
& I’m talking to this
video student at OU
who still dreams
but I’m jaded
& her boyfriend is jaded
‘cuz we both lived in L.A.
& he’s the type
I tried to avoid
that sneering type
who is “always correct”
supreme confidence
& cockiness
he shows me his art
a painting of a blue
stick figure hanging
on canvas
the best thing I’ve ever done
he says
but in no way does this
represent
my finer works
(originally published in #thesideshow, Spring 2017)
Symbolism for a Millennial Breakup
I cracked my phone screen
on my first date without you.
I carried it in my back pocket, like always,
though maybe I postured myself differently,
finally sitting up straight enough
to carry my own weight.
I didn’t look at my phone
until after the date. By then,
I could no longer remember you
without the shattered glass–
the flawless screen was not made
from our blazing beach days
of black seaweed and slithering kites
that begged the wind to let go,
where footsteps parted sand
to lead the tide into ourselves,
to let the moon drag our bodies
into the ocean’s boundless mirrors
where, enveloped in reflections,
we could only gasp for air.
(originally published in Metonym, Fall 2017)
Background Actors
At the foot of the staircase to the stars–
in the back of the line of actors drunken
from delusion (I’m going to make it),
each of us with hands full of hangers,
heads full of the fame
that glimpses a star, a familiar face,
how we chosen ones flicker
on living room screens
of friends and families–
a blip, a blur so brief
we were almost never there at all.
(originally published in The Piedmont Journal of Poetry and Fiction, Winter 2017)