From snow, some strong leaves
would not fall. For new buds though,
the strongest will leap.

I know about happiness; we’ve met.
We just don’t get alone time—
anxiety’s name is , but. I don’t do simple sentences.

I know anxiety so well that I don’t have to see its face—
no matter how fast I spin, it’s always a hair’s breadth from my sight.

But I know it’s there. It breathes down the right side of my neck.
It’s got a chokehold. And trust me—when you’re that intimate with somebody else,Read More »

I’m into definitions today,
because I couldn’t have spelled out before
how tonic involves emotional connotations
of certain notes combined,Read More »

We all stand
on the same polka dotted mat.

You stomp the colored spots
like they’re disco-balls. You’re effortless,
the game’s commands flowing through
your veins. Your instinct: Graceful dance.

I start
with the center,
but one spot cannot hold two limbs!
So all that comes next
is a jumble-Read More »

Once the travel mug tired of journeying at last
and couldn’t even stand to take the paved road home,
Dave lost the dear friend in all its specificities.
But stomp its foot and huff its breath all it wants,
I don’t think that it will stay stagnant long.
Things roll, people shove, and you never have much say
in where you end up, which is not all bad, because
wasn’t the travel mug made to sojourn?
And aren’t our crimes against ourselves along with the rest,
until our selves break or break out into light?

Clustered leaves form a nest for the cloud
as I lie below, the tree’s outstretched arms
strengthened and still, waiting for the sky crown
to up and flit away, as I sit upon the tree’s feet
like a second weight, heavy as a burden,
fragile as royalty.

Place me along the breast of the blue jay when it claps its wings,
that I too may turn concave,
blown back by its power’s rush,Read More »

It is with urgency that the crickets chirp in each other’s gaps.
The wind rushes through the reeds on repeat,
as a lapping wave, and the owls insist
on crying out their rhetoric. Would that I had doneRead More »

My head is blank
empty

vacant
up for grabs

up for sale
if you’re evilRead More »

I am in love enough with details
to be OCD, a poet, self-aware, far too engaged all the time
with every milliquiver of my fibers,

and I think I’m understood,
that my intentionality is seen,
that my terms and movements are known as technical.

But I’ve taught no soul my tongue;
if I do go noticed, I go labeled as odd,

and honestly, nobody cares! They are not in love with me.
And why would they be? I am captivated
by details. I am busy. Making good choices.

Read More »