Shuffleboard in Tampa is sliding into the DMs
of a box of saltines and eating each stack whole
if you dominate otherwise you drink leftover
juice from a friend’s friends’ wedding while
waiting for what you wanted forever on
the coast of happiness the cusp of sweet
custard overflowing with berries.
(originally published in The Waiting Room, Summer 2023)
the spinning lights these strangers
disco couch crumbs heat and fizz
we are from a strange land, too
& everyone seems to ask what are you we
know what we are (breathing) into
mouth an ancient flame
acolytes of fire tamed by song
we could burn this house down
(originally published in BlazeVOX Journal, Spring 2023)
Skinny Love isn’t your strongest (red
guitar grass blades, guzzles of beer)
the world doesn’t know your name
still I walk infinity eights through
your friend’s backyard evading dormant
dog droppings while the strumming lands
soft & sweet, butterflies on my cheek.
I’ll find a blanket somewhere to sit on
under the awning, a shade for when it rains
(originally published in Ink Pantry, Winter 2022)
I can’t stand it– in LA one year
Alex King and I were invited to
an Oscars party but in the midst
of another sad singing act we left
for tacos but still stood around on
the green and red tiles watching
a muted tv anyway I think Billy
Crystal was the host that year
the gleam in his eyes dead I
walked Sunset and Vine seeing
unsharpened pencil eyes all
these wannabes myself included
I peeked in one mirror to comb
hair and breathe into glass then
outlined my name inside a star
to leave a filthy myth somewhere
(originally published in Whistling Shade, 2021)
on back porch with pounding
rain puddles amass you ask
advice an offer a hornet
nest in the gutter we invite
friends over my memory
short my throat closed to
organ tunes in harmony
answers inside aluminum
you hand me your phone
say look another malady
the dirt clogged drain
for pests to fester in
(originally published in Taj Mahal Review, Winter 2022)
We think completing the jigsaw
depicting Earth will complete us, but
4 AM we float in half-consciousness,
hoping to realign our orbit, still aimed
into vastness, a jumbled mess on the
floor. Even the dog snores. Earlier,
Disco ran across our tarot cards, shuffling
a wrangled meaning into fate. The Hermit.
The Star. The Hanged Man. I try to string
together half-correlations. I want to drink
more. I open the window and inhale.
I look into the dark and wonder
how we can piece it all together.
(originally published in Artvilla, Spring 2023)
a meat
to soak
our excess
drinking
once
the blur
faded
into smoke
and juices
slathered
all over
the night
(originally published in The Charles Carter, Summer 2020)
Nothing to start conversation with
but the glow of television, hors d’oeuvres
the crowd devoured and I could only stand
and gape at the electric wiring strung along
the ceiling that led to the hanging light
fixture, a metallic apple dimmed. I wanted
to talk about architecture but felt wildly
inadequate due to the bricks missing
in my brain, hammers clanking where
words should, my mouth full of nails.
(originally published in Poetry Super Highway, Summer 2020)
but I fall asleep it is Friday my youth
is waning. Please tell me every time
you want me there. I love to say I
will think about it. And I will. To
feel if the sun will warm the air
enough to drink gallons the death
of me. I want you to nail me
down I want to stay in bed I want to
surround myself with hanging lights
and loud whiskey-drinkers and dance
around smashed Bud Light bottles
gleaming with the force of recent
desire– someone leaving their
own temporal body, someone
leaving their wallet behind,
someone leaving the world
so damn lonely now.
(originally published in RASPUTIN, Winter 2020)
my cigarette-smoking badass waitress
the Bible I’ll defenestrate at 3 A.M.
Mary I went to Catholic school
while Josh played bagpipes at the Oval
Absorb tradition with sugary cocktails
I didn’t say a word in the play
as Pontius Pilate I wouldn’t
have contributed
Watch men get crucified by wine
Watch women excise their seven demons
this party’s a tomb
of sacred skeletons
leave it to the wild dogs to feast
on the bottles of Jagermeister
we drink blue glasses
of Zombie in the corner
(originally published in Down in the Dirt, Winter 2020)