I don’t keep anything in my pockets. That was the first thing I noticed, gosh, back when I still had to move my car. My chapstick and pens sit on the desk and my car stays put except for weekly street sweeping (though I don’t hear them come by so don’t think I even need … More a loner in isolation
I want your Kevlar skin— evolutionarily engineered to banish the blades, the bullets, the bad omens. I want your ‘fuck the world’ attitude you sport the known, flawed self—unhindered by inevitable judgement no blood loss no bullshit no brown nose no nothing but grit and gums and safety pins because they owe you, not the … More Envy
“Good morning!” appears atop of the stream, a foolhardy greeting for a pile of memes posted by parrots petering political puff to make our mouths smile or cause them to huff. Oblivious addicts, under-the-bridge trolls, we stretch out our fingers for our morning scrolls.
Habit had me walking home along the trolley rails late at night when no one else was on the road. A girl with a bag hanging on her hip was coming down the hill next to my building. She saw me stepping off the rails and onto the sidewalk. She passed my door as I … More Bad Business
I fell in love with a girl named Conviction. We are inseparable. When I walk, I walk with Conviction. When I speak, I speak with Conviction. Before her I was faithless, with her I believe.
Fingers of a lady sitting on the evening train viciously storm the pages of sparkling new book simply entitled Christmas Poems. With a curious smile I peer down from where I stand and remind myself it is the 18th of June.
The hours behind the sun stretch out to the curve of the universe then turn an inverted trek unto the shadowed earth, the space heater long gone out. Time cannot be heard in outer space. Its needle tip flashes to prick the fringe of fabric the patchwork quilt a chair-bound scientist wove with threads on … More Eight Last Minutes of Light
White dress white dress how softly compressed prismatic coordinates printed over a spectrum of threads matching sheets covering the little table and chairs in the upper room of consciousness. White—no color or all the colors at once? All the bright or all the dark the stark dark hair and the pale face pale arms pale … More Inkwell Reflections for Miss Dickinson
Walk beneath my canopy, aerial assaults pinging as you find a pace. In April’s warm mist your cheeks I keep dry. Hold me and I hold you, the infant wrapped in the folds of her mother’s arms. On clear days you hide me and I take comfort in the act. Hidden on the floor of … More Our Complicated Public Union
Something’s been holding back the words. It might be the version of me that’ll read these lines one day. Winding me down back roads toward a painted horizon, as fabricated as one on the set of an old western. Pulling my eyes from the one I’m driving towards. Still something’s been holding back the words. … More The You Not Looking
