Category: Poetry

I can feel his close wet breath on my neck as warm clings to his saliva and seeps into my pores causing my blood to sway just a bit more we move silent as all else becomes loud with rhythm and voice as they creep around the room demanding / failing for attention hardwood eyes,…

You are a campfire and the bear in the woods we were warned about. That VHS tape with all the white lines. You are the overplayed movie about the campers who befriend a wild bear by sheer magic and only one of them gets eaten. You are the berries in the bear’s stomach the eaten…

To be eldest is to be the sentence before the trial. Even the exodus left me to wreck and conquer. All for a heritage of lack. I’ve ruined, drunk, and promised. Botched my anthems. I was not born here, I could never. I’ve had my own zip code for years now. I am tired. Mine…

Give me your weary-to-the-bone American Dream myth and I’ll give you the cab driver in Boerum Hill, Brooklyn who says that he’s a secular Muslim, Ottoman Turkish, and not the sort of man who spray-paints Allah Akbar as imprimatur on the brick street beside the Paris dead. But, instead, the sort blathering on about the…

With my arms clasped across my chest, wrist atop wrist bitten fingers emboss bloodied half-moons onto crisscrossed palms. I try to achieve buoyancy, name this practice absolution, the conquering over the waves. A man passes by, smile reaching all the way to his gentle eyes and asks me if I know that I’m signing the…

It is safe to go outside so I brush my cats on the rusting balcony to avoid their winter coats matting into the fibers of the carpet. I pull away handfuls of white watch the morning breeze blow it away like a cottonwood snow imagine a bird’s nest made only of fur delicately woven together.…

Outside the search area, a wheat field whisks away sound. A cross on a collarbone shines in sunlight like an unseen beacon. When the wind blows over her at night does the wind know she is already gone? Does she know? Of course not. Death only troubles the living left behind to feel it. Beetles…

The night we first met, I wasn’t living in a ‘78 station wagon lurking in the playground shadows of the parking lot. You weren’t drunk that night when you told me what love meant and that it most resembled me. Wind on my face doesn’t remind me of the summer nights I’ve surrender to wild…

You had the heart of a hummingbird, the tongue of a hornet. Sweet sting. I tried to be a flower for you, or a nectar. Sickening. I can’t help but be attracted to disaster. You had the hands of a sculptor; I placed myself between them, wet clay. I wanted you in me ……………maneuvering my…