in my eyes beloved song
thrumming anew at the feed
because water wants what
water cannot understand
it is ephemeral all
wings a blanket we carry
tucked in our pockets
alive and regenerative
each heartbeat nothing
precedes the moment
passes us here to have
and to proceed
(originally published in Caveat Lector, Summer 2025)
life
The Dog Is Always Greener
the dog is always
greener
in the land of
pleasant living
if we could pour
our hands
over the promise
of fence
into wild dandelion
weeds of
contentment
on a fake summer
day
the reticent
dog is the one
to pet
not the meme
celebrity
husky
or perhaps
we want
to live again
in the way
that dogs do
refreshing
the page
every fourteen
seconds
or days or
years
the grandma
calls this celebration
of life a resort
and we call
the dealer’s hand
too forgetful
to recall
the spade
drafted in
the lush
unkempt
garden
shuffle
the cards
repeatedly
to delay
the inevitable
(originally published in Pinhole Poetry, Fall 2023)
Wealthy Sibling Photoshoot
Stepping out of their pool,
wet feet dripping onto
afternoon cement–
luxury sunglasses,
soft and floral swimwear,
perfect voluminous
hair.
Over the fence behind
them– the Instagram
background– vines
drop, dangle, gaining
strength in the sun.
Skulking forward,
their shadows
take from their
own darkness.
(originally published in Ink Pantry, Summer 2023)
Rectangular Rainbow
The clouds induce trance on the drive
home from work today. White sheep pile
atop each other on a ranch in Montana
until the weight of an oncoming storm
that never comes except for a stub of
rainbow that peeks from behind far hills.
In the open stretch of highway it reveals itself
as a rectangle floating in the middle of cerulean,
squiggly lines across it, a glitch of physics
my phone cannot capture. I text you from
the middle lane– soaring eighty– because
you love rainbows. You say you walked
around our block but could not find it.
When I arrive home I am filled with unknown,
spiritual vigor. We split a red, frozen pizza
then leave for a journey following our favorite
clouds above, on high alert for the rainbow.
Guided by pink translucent clouds in blue
outlines, you ask me holistically, what are your
career goals? I can’t stop searching upward,
awestruck by the air and rare beauty
in the world, in the center of our elevated
city of bridges and transitions and roads
that fall into each other in chaos you
must understand to survive. The sunset
is somewhere and I know our clouds
obscure it. I know my career involves
sacrifice but I am chasing film’s thrill.
The whims of our uppermost winds!
I have taken you along.
(originally published in I-70 Review, Summer 2024)
Wildwood
Let’s go to Wildwood and get lost in
the rough waves of September. Stand
further from shore than ever, where
water’s shallow, sand firm though
fine enough to spiral into thoughts
where its strength dissipates and you
sink into a rough wave. Sometimes
what you need is to be pummeled by
the Atlantic. If you are not careful,
you could drown, but in the cerulean
calm of caesura, waves break all
around and forgive you. When
it is offered you want the air frigid
in the warmth of your sequence
of days so it can thrash the
fragileness of body and you will
not know what you have craned
your neck for. You’ll pull out
binoculars to view onlookers
on a distant, speeding sailboat
and you will see your life,
how fast it will pass.
(originally published in Stink Eye Magazine, Fall 2022)
Omnipotence
Your laugh could knock civilization out
but you are too modest.
I spent time at the cafeteria alone
at school. Red trays quivered.
On film sets I can’t look up.
How tight is the lighting rig?
When I apply that logic
to our place in the universe–
it’s too cold a stone to live alone.
When your soundwaves reach me,
in my solace, from the moon
or Mars or Mars, Pennsylvania,
I want my life to begin again
and I want you there
the whole time.
(originally published in Ephemeral Elegies, Spring 2023)
Whims
I am attracted to power
the sun is a battery and I bask
in a ruse of energy or chemistry
in my worn-torn pajamas
and constant wanting
to leave the house
to see some birds
with a warmer destination
in mind or casually
run into an old friend
and we will ask how
the other is doing
for a total of five seconds
before moving further
into our respective drifts
of time forgetting
the tentative pizza plans
we had just talked about
forgetting the ice cold
air around us that rises
up and only gets colder
and I am lifted too
arms first
until I latch onto
the wings of a plane
which knows where
it shall go and
my whole life
has been like that
following the whims
of whatever
carries me
further
(originally published in CultureCult POWERLESS Anthology. Fall 2024)
After Millvale Music Festival, 2021
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)
Reruns
I sit by the fan
this May afternoon
alive forever
in the green
of our home-
made salad
(spinach, chickpea,
yellow pepper, tahini),
sore and sweaty
from carrying air
conditioners up
steep hallway stairs.
Using the heat-
gun and pliers
I straighten
my brain’s
antenna.
Our argument
becomes static
on a tube TV
in someone
old’s living
room.
(originally published in San Antonio Review, Winter 2023)
Alive
Show a baby grass
for the first time
yes
there will be more of that
(originally published in SAND, Spring 2023)