the cat plays with dangled string no I do
thin road-painted lines
I’m reaching a destination I swear
in the low valley of desire
sticky-sweet saliva
mouth open
give me every loose thread you have
(originally published in Every Pigeon, Summer 2018)
another night of insomnia
the crickets never sleep
endlessly yapping on &
on about the planes & trains
& flightless birds who wander
fields endlessly & there
is an island where
that’s all that happens
it’s 5 A.M.
& this bed is an island
(originally published in The Sunlight Press, 2018)
You can watch movies
for nine hours straight
and not see anything as poetic
as the walnut tree in your yard
decapitated by storm winds
I’m saying that’s the problem
(originally published in Penumbra Art and Literary Journal, Spring 2018)
sometimes who you love
is anticipation thus you wave
at forecasts flail at clouds
hands defying gravity you
drop-down dance someone
into your heart
(originally published in Botticelli Magazine, Spring 2018)
When I was homeless, I snuck into gyms.
Browned shower floors with footprints.
A rose inside curtains’ slow steam,
I became an endless bloom,
tongue lapping the head.
(originally published in Pidgeonholes, Spring 2018)
& you weep on the phone
asking what’s wrong
typically nothing
nothing I say
water patters
to puddle
the white noise
needed for sleep
(originally published in Rosette Malificarum, Winter 2018)
I ask God the mouth the mountain holy
snow where does the rain go in desert
yellow enunciation of healing the sand warm
fingers pressed against a forehead as
firmament or a ruse I’m just saying it’s easy
in growing old to live confused
(originally published in Little Rose Magazine, Winter 2018)
Here, we
are a law.
Lawyers of alloy &
beaming far off.
This galaxy lazy
noise & heartbeat.
Hash & shadow,
hair & gold.
Skin, its own
constitution.
Freckles rumina-
ting speckles.
Sunshine the gift &
a Sistine visit.
Angels mistaking
mouths for wings.
I thought you wanted
something like this.
(originally published in Botticelli Magazine, Spring 2018)
Night falls yet clematis retain their violet.
O overrated light please save our dying
breed of seeing. X-rays. Monocles.
To me you are a single stem breaking
from the dark. And I, the hand stenciling
jittering petals under jetstream.
(originally published in The Wayfarer, 2018)
phone call–
distance. silence.
static tethered to words
back-of-throat now wandering
clouds.
(originally published in #theslideshow, Winter 2018)
