Her eyes shine a sparkle tinder–
quick hello and let’s get lunch yet never
follows up. Easy to make plans like that,
look a person in the soul and never let them go
forth thinking you didn’t care.
(originally published in Blue Lake Review, Spring 2020)
I am sorry I asked you
out piss-drunk at Mikey’s
at 3 A.M. a month
after we stopped
talking on Tinder
you told me I think
the time has passed
which was the most
polite way you could
have considering
this man you never met
came up to you erratic
and slurring–
men can be time
bombs single
and desperate
actions to regret
I should
have apologized
sooner
(originally published in Umbrella Factory, Fall 2018)
These Tinder dates and hookups.
Teeth kisses and unfamiliar homes.
You count cold days and they are circular.
There’s a blue hue from the window.
M snores in unison with the universe
of her bedroom. I can’t sleep, so
I become the fan. After some time,
transcendence is the blade that cuts
through stale air, makes the room breathe.
(originally published in The Bitchin’ Kitsch, Spring 2018)
Newton knew the force of a desire
determined the severity of impact.
If you want an apple, the thought will travel
far to haunt you. Calculus was invented
to make sense of your absence. Such
is the memory of July: Beach House
in dim lighting, your bed beside the stairwell.
One could almost roll over and…
walking up those stairs the first time,
you were not there, but searching for your
cat outside, later found hiding in the ravine.
You wouldn’t let me stay, not yet.
I would carry silence into
waning days of weeks then feast
on all the words you spoon-fed me.
I failed to boomerang magic into our
silent field, unlike our first date: cheap
chicken on the patio of World of Beers,
talking what it would take to unlock
our true selves. You called Colin
to buy molly, though I’d never
rolled. Like everything else,
that plan flaked and you never
thought of me again.
(originally published in Man in the Street Magazine, Winter 2018)
Pepper burned my mouth
and all I could think of
in that salivated flame
was you telling me your tongue
no longer felt the heat
of a moment: meaningless
sex– bite and garment
here between the green
walls of your zen room
your small goldfish
swimming in circles–
submerged flame and hunger
for love so intense
I flicker poems to you
thumbs on lighters
waiting for the matchbook
to catch– combed pomade
hair, designer jeans, and wit–
what I want is origami
and fire– instead
we talk about love
but unlike Raymond Carver
we have nothing
more to say.
(originally published in Words Dance, Summer 2017)
After you invited me to your brother’s jazz
concert you said you liked me too much
and I couldn’t handle that, the thought
of our togethered trombone slide into an infinity
accompanied by spacetime’s deep sound.
I avoided you the only way I knew how:
my absence for your words a dangling CO2.
This, another failed online dating experience,
a week and (it was electric for a time) the zap
of each other in a cold January condo over and
over, a thousand volts then whole note rest,
a singed week’s limb removed by blizzard wind.
(originally published in Postcard Poems and Prose, 2017)
our short harmony brushes my teeth
flosses the ridges bending eating
at me the yellowy plaque on white
the yolks in morning how inside
we are tender sunny side up I love
the way you look at me those
runny eyes gushing off the pan
onto black-and-white tile floor
grids the burgeoning cities
in our minds cars read
the streetlights’ caution
as go, go, go . . .
(originally published in The City Key, Spring 2016)
(originally published in Ink in Thirds, Issue 1)
suck in the vacuous space
separating the lines of the
ceiling and the hard cross
of vagary carpet mites –
wave the dueling paintbrushes
until the rims break but ever
so coquettishly whisk
the centipede eyelashes –
twist the crescent mouth to hark
the worthy obeisance of
patriot songs in a way that
conducts mosquito perseverance –
patch the augered suitcase leaking
carrot water but do it so
the bullish cockroach shells
remain intact and walking –
reassure her that the future
is a flowing faucet unhinged
like the music of the Grecian
harmonica in gathered cicadas –
(originally published in Euphemism – Vol. 11, Issue 1)