We march through the airport in cold winds chanting
aluminum fists in the air and when we come home
the Fireball bottle is empty. The chimney is covered
in dust and Johnny has pneumonia for the second time
this year, lungs filled with water but no one else
breathes easily, just tuning into television fills a room
with coughs and silence. We had wings for a minute
but the planes have resumed their spots in the air far
away from the things that hurt. Just gazing down on
wide landscapes of gray plains and small churches
crumbling from the steeples.
(originally published in The Courtship of Winds, Summer 2019)
on the last day
I hope to believe
in other things about God
because the Temple’s sharp
eye had a sudden appearance
What is the cause?
I have no answer
Tonight I’ll give my eye
to the Temple
when the angels descend
In this blindness
I can rest the world
(originally published in PPP Ezine, Summer 2020)
Rip the last life-supporting limb off the tree;
no money grows here now, no more sustaining green
glinting the grass, just faces of dead men we never
knew presiding over lives with a capital C,
an initialism for one fewer line stampeding to the future
of individual prosperity. Sprint to the edge of the field;
walk the gravel road until you find another–
sharp rocks now splinter through your soles.
(originally published in The Fictional Cafe, Spring 2019)
should have been
in bed hours ago
talking to Paige
in glass shards
seems worth it
gone are the days
getting drunk on
the patio with Paige
night after night
glass after glass
(originally published in Botticelli Magazine, Spring 2019)
Whatever myth you have of pyramids,
I want to hear. I can barely untie
apron strings behind my back
let alone move slabs of stone in
desert sand. I want to wake
early and run inside the bursting
triangles of sunlight but when
I start to tell you, I catch myself
already in a lie.
(originally published in Academy of the Heart and Mind, Fall 2020)
my relationship’s been
a dull landscape with volcanoes
walking the surface of insomnia
5 A.M. in bed eyes closed orbiting
my sun her radiance
I often fantasize
gray plains and craters
rock flings bordering
space too shapeless
to call dark
one desire millions
of miles apart
another right here
floating stone sphere
I am cold November
awake and under cover
an eternity to evaluate
my position in gravity
and always on
(originally published in Rune, Spring 2019)
I strive for greatness a small rock
slips off my tongue words
on the verge of something cosmic
a novel expanding underneath each
(originally published in Poetry Pacific, May 2020)
It all comes down to milk and sugar–
everything I want to say to you
someone has already said better.
on a waffle cone.
(originally published in Dreich Magazine, Summer 2021)
Following a trip to Vegas
in August heat, my skin itched
for good. I ended us. No,
you said. We were a done deal.
You would not leave.
We drank juice and vodka
to forget we had ever
talked about forever.
We rode a Lyft to BW3
at 2 P.M. on a Thursday
because a cheap happy hour
is a kind of grim reminder.
We ordered boneless wings at the bar.
The bartender told us ignition is cheap.
Beer stripped us to tender meat
and there was no more steam.
You stepped into the breeze
when you went outside to smoke.
We locked ourselves out–
the clouds produced rain, not keys.
(originally published in Hedge Apple, Spring 2019)
over dark beds of leaves
twigs and string I was full
of hope and hoping there
a remnant of vacation
a connection to the sea
perhaps the nerves
through the night I walked
alone on sand the
dogs came barking
from the Atlantic
drenched and draped
in seaweed and I thought
of familiar love how
unbroken longing forever
intertwines in the bending
gravity of the moon
(originally published in Plum Tree Tavern, Spring 2019)