No, the ground
is not sinking.
And yes,
I believe
in us,
though
we may
tear apart
in two
directions.
I desire pines,
and you want
the unknown,
heading up, and up.
Our hands have
been tied
together.
Years now.
And you say
you see the clearing,
but I am losing
myself
in the trees.
(originally published in confetti, Fall 2023)
Love
No Matter How We Love
reservoir fading skies
the greenest pine
needles tarantulas or
wedding vows jodhpurs
light silk sweat turtles amid
mountains two ducked hearts
murder in love a frozen deer
splinters of metal your abandoned
democracy you begin to run your
arms through the mists smugness
aloft the fruit of late season you
awake to feet of crystal stone
naked on a grass paradise plot
of your father’s estate how creeks
know of the sky’s smallest leaves
and their immense heart scents
of smoke the golden brown
of the soil actually stars
and no matter how we love
it does not end like a song
our tears pour but the storm
yes the storm dissolves
over us like fireworks
(originally published in Sybil Journal, 2025)
Lunch Date (Rare)
Sushi at
Nakama–
ginger pink,
wasabi,
soy sauce poured
over rice.
Amateurs,
but we love
each other.
(originally published in All Your Poems, Summer 2025)
Firenze
open shutters overlook
bells umbrellas energy
I watch all day I am
one pedestrian watch
as clock hands reach
slowly one way up
to us which direction walk
the bridge over the river
time the cobblestone path that
firms as marks hands gaff tape
on what slips this
plane this coil weeks
wanting not just this country
to last forever but what seeds
of doubt to be taken by wind
stolen by gnats
who sneak and fly into our space
if they could digest what
we put down plans to live
here in two years that cannot
come too fast it will arrive
a bullet train when we are
sleeping on a humid night
in the future
our
traveler bags brown
and green means
the forest meaning opposite
of open road if time
were this ambiguous than
I want nothing to do with it
but its hands are in everything
bugs in the unfinished chianti
drown and nothing
I can do to help
and I don’t want to
drink but I do
(originally published in The Round, Spring 2025)
The Billionaires
And if I didn’t want it?
I would have it. Look at
us– we are in love, long
grass abundant around us.
This should be enough
and you have it, what I want
you won’t give. What you want
I can’t do– not in my lack
of trying, but the extreme
wealth of it, the love we have
a mountain rising into fog,
the peak no longer visible
as I hook into my bootstrap
and you hook into yours.
(originally published in Dandelion Scribes, Spring 2025)
CBUS=>PIT
Used to be you’d be the one
I’d tell balloons to– the moon
changed positions in the sky,
obscuring Orion. I’d wake
and brew you coffee dark
as peering down a well,
then drop into your cosmos,
dreams you just survived
in the night. This left me
an azure hue to proceed
through the day, delivering
good news of bread and butter
to those who were hungry
in my chosen city’s streets
of lead. I’d hold gold. Now
I am present in the intersection
of three rivers, a bridge
standing on steel Xs on
a stack. I want to be a pillar
for all who drive me home.
(originally published in Ariel Chart, Spring 2024)
Does Freezing Salmon Before Cooking It Eliminate Parasites?
I am done with dating
apps. I would like to make
you dinner: salmon, rice,
brussels sprouts. You said
you know what I want
for my birthday over a bed
of nigiri and leaves. I rolled
sushi once in a cavern
of doubt. I couldn’t stop
shaking. The nervousness–
I mean, the lust– grew
on your vines by
your side door.
We had your home
re-keyed, then there was
trouble with the locks.
Couldn’t keep the lovers out.
(originally posted in Discretionary Love, 2025)
Mortal Kombat
I’m no fan of gore
nor button mashers,
but when you speak to me
as if from pixelated reality
get over here and finish
me, I equip my knit cap
and fight sub-zero temperatures
to be under sheets with you
in all the fatalities
of the heart. We die
many times in each
other’s arms
inputting
the proper combinations.
We are reckless
when we love– we attack,
we defend, I watch
the blood flush out of us
asking if you will love me
always. When that lands,
I’m finished.
(originally published in Stickman Review, Fall 2023)
Full Glass of Water
I am shirtless. I am thirsty.
I drink an eternity
from my full glass of water
while my two friends kiss.
In the old house. The kitchen
with the steel island
I had lifted my glass
from. New lovers!
I stand
by the sink
filling my glass,
over and over
again, the faucet
a waterfall,
bountiful,
something like love–
it quenches,
but you must keep filling.
(originally published in BlazeVOX, Spring 2024)
The Inflatable Exhibition
Maybe the installation was overrated–
the advertisements got us, inflated
the necessity of PVC in the center
of the city. It is August and I wanted
to see you for who you were and you
let me. Our shoes were off and
in the green shining light we were
vibrant. In the red we could not tell
each other apart from the screaming
strangers’ children, as indistinct
as silhouettes, palettes upon which
we draw the lines we see ahead; the vents
streaming air; the eighteen rooms we lost
ourselves in but not the sense of time,
which was kind of the point:
already we are labyrinths
so why pay to see
ourselves out? Not that we could
even. Had to find a blue GUIDE to point
us slightly in the direction of exodus,
another tube to lead us into the open
patio with the mobile bar selling
orange crush and cucumber vodka
with twenty other people seeking
air, or at least a chair
to sit, in which I am
wondering how close to sit
beside you? The answer
in the atoms wobbling between
us, the slight tilting of light.
(originally published in The Seraphic Review, Fall 2023)