broken wind through bent window
tonight estimates life long enough
to breathe sunlight
(originally published in Winamop, Winter 2023)
Short
Forest Song
Hide these holes from death’s dentists.
Suburban wealth I heard is best eaten
slowly. We can be the beasts we were
warned against. My mouth and ear
are hollow. Follow endless footsteps
into forgettable forests. For this I sing
a song I hope you won’t remember.
(originally published in ARZONO Poetry Annual, Summer 2023)
They Ask What You Are
People ask you to make an
idea out of something you do
and they say it so casually
you don’t get what it is
they are asking for.
(originally published in children, churches, and daddies, Winter 2023)
I want to channel a simpler time
One without burdens. Without–
never mind. I’ve lost mine. I’m
brainless, more or less, the long
er I live. It feels cumulative. A
long tunnel. I’m reaching to
ward the exit. My arm can’t ex
tend enough to leave the sleeve.
(originally published in ActiveMuse, Spring 2023)
Mist
mess of red awash on
verdant streets your face
the mist eyes closed
a crease stained stagnant
now what stops me stops
you purple blue glimpse
a rainbow near your voice
a phone call never call
again give me the words
to say those words
(originally published in datura, Summer 2021)
Carcass
Don’t let what’s dead
linger.
Kiss the ground
before you rise.
Spill juice
into the river.
We have miles
to fly– the dream
carries us only
to the edge.
(originally published in Willows Wept Review, Winter 2021)
Wedding (July 3, 2022)
gnats in my eyes
the eucalyptus celebration –
rose gardens
(originally published in Avant(Appalachia), Spring 2023)
Alive
Show a baby grass
for the first time
yes
there will be more of that
(originally published in SAND, Spring 2023)
Lonely
thoughts from
the bottle I want
everyone & everything
no one around loneliness
imprints into sand
a hand desperate for a body
(originally published in G*MOB, Spring 2022)
Trust
I did not listen to my inner
monologue when it told me
to stay home and watch
The Novice. I went to Trace
Brewing when it was bright
but you sat in the dark
when I needed light. I
said one drink, one drink
only, then on the two-block
walk back the clouds
were down, they felt
attached to you and
I kept stepping on
plastic bags and
scrunched-up napkins.
To arrive home I had
to bisect my conscience
and wait: how much
of myself to give
after giving?
The water tower
in the distance
a perpetual blue
balloon.
(originally published in DoubleSpeak Magazine, Spring 2023)