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
gently snoring
I often fantasize
another world
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
our love
sometimes unwieldy
and always on
the periphery
of shining
(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
breath
(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.
Still–
gelato
in Rome
on a waffle cone.
To walk
under lights
between motorcycles
with you–
(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
lost singing
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)
a dragonfly
dangled wing
above the pool
early morning
ballads on repeat
the mind
a mimosa
an old record player
pure sugar
champagne
umbrella
in the wind
rain
in the cups
a little left
(originally published in Kingdoms in the Wild, Spring 2019)
Sitting across the small table in the company of bagel
art and clanking dishes transported from trash to the back,
she asks no questions about what I’d bring to this table,
just asks about my experiences working with The New
York Times and making ends meet in studios by the sea
in southern California, how different that life was,
how, starting Friday, I’ll make a good delivery driver
(originally published in The Literary Nest, Spring 2019)
Truth is, I’ve lost my motivation to do anything but motivationally speak
to myself silently in my head & that’s why I’m meeting with Gray
at a cafe later to work on outlines for short films we’ll never shoot &
that’s ok because the sun has filled my cup of coffee with bad ideas
I won’t act upon & that’s the useless scroll I call the timeline of my
life– truth is, I recall the night last July we nearly killed ourselves
playing Ouija downing a bottle of Absinthe & even the wormwood
couldn’t compose phantasms in our minds though we tried–
knees rocking in dark candlelight, hands clasped in prayer, a cat
named Spirit haunting the hallowed grounds– we had the ghosts
if we wanted them. Now we want them out.
(originally published in Studio One, Spring 2019)
your family sits atop a graveyard
I recall my Catholic upbringing
its subsequent tumble through adulthood
wringed out through cigarette smoke
the last time I felt like a pothole was
the gym last week the oceans of muscles
lapped with saltwater oozing out of bodies
or maybe at work I am new always
on the purple carpets asking
every authority how to be zen
page ends with staples scattered
beside the fluorescent printer
with your family I guzzle and mix each type of
sparkling glass and dark concoction offered until
my quiet disappears and my rambling becomes
a kind of buzzing within the hive of the room
(originally published in 24hr Neon Mag, Winter 2019)
