this is no end
nor beginning
I climb into the clock
and hairs of time still
wend from its beating
wings until purpose
finds me this is just
another way to kill time
(originally published in Ginosko Literary Journal, Fall 2021)
this is no end
nor beginning
I climb into the clock
and hairs of time still
wend from its beating
wings until purpose
finds me this is just
another way to kill time
(originally published in Ginosko Literary Journal, Fall 2021)
Happy to announce my third chapbook, Count Seeds With Me, is now available! These are poems written in 2020 during the height of quarantine. The books are beautifully handmade and offered in limited quantities, so get your copy over at Ethel’s shop for just $9!
We walked to the Cultural District to be
at the jazz festival & basked in the sax of Nubya
Garcia beside men on mushrooms grooving
underneath eternal heat, sweat in the air
everywhere. It was a rare off being free
to roam in the spring-summer-autumn days
of Lone Wolf. This year, we seek public stairs
down the warehouse side of Liberty Avenue,
past the church turned brewery & power
plant we nearly lived across from. Above’s the plentiful
hill with blue water tower, where we pretend the mayor
lives inside its steel blue dome with all the rich hidden
in the hills with their crow vision. The community
pool is empty. The boring streets to drive through
are the interesting ones to hike with uneven brick &
ramshackle storefronts never noticed. Here’s a record
shop for anarchists. In this decrepit year we look to fill
my head with chaos to make sense of the field around us.
We have been walking & walking the sunset magenta
over Bloomfield Bridge yet summer seems a year away.
(originally published in Selcouth Station, Spring 2021)
I stay stone, rigid,
a bronze trombone.
I live another year,
eyeing a future
no further than
tomorrow’s muddy
sunrise.
(originally published in Black Moon Magazine, Spring 2021)
Sirens all day, every day.
And steady rain
out the window. I won’t
go out there. I’ll sit
in this gray room
with twin computer
lights. Some days
it’s either fog
or an ominous cloud.
Today it is both.
(originally published in Pangolin Review, Spring 2020)