If I am whiplash and I am a noun,
then I am injury, and that can’t be right.
But I could be a verb. Am I an action—
a sudden movement causing a turn about?
Category: Systemic Dysfunction
Iris
You climb the fence a rung and a half—one for each year you’ve
been alive, and I say, The fence is not for climbing;
you might fall down on the other side. But you say you wanna go boom there,
Manipulate
They want to hold a marriage conference,
where we’ll all nod, say, “Oh yes,
marriage is hard,”
like it’s a grand secret, where we will not
say how, but we will all know
about Adam and Eve’s greatest practical
Schiz
Schiz
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I don’t remember why the cellar was dangerous,
but the top level of the shed was 3/4 rafters,
and the attic was half gaping holes,
always in places you couldn’t predict.
You can only live on the edge
of a risk when forced to play it safe,
so we’d scale these dungeon stairs like a
ritual, to simply stand still by the
Order
I think it’s funny, the invisibility of hierarchies,
how if there are nine levels to the peak of the celestial,
I cannot see whether I am to climb
islands on the other
Sometimes I feel bad for the horizon,
distinguishing the shades of blue,
propping up our sky, holding
down earth’s ocean,
crash
i didn’t mean to sell my soul to the devil. the
words were mixed in the comic book, an
d i was playing them on my tongue, processing
them in my mind, producing them like a con
demned symphony. i asked my mom
how to get it back, but she said, shouldn’t
Impossible
Singing on the clouds like an army—
bodies, robes, warriors guarding,
so adjacent I can’t see through the wall.
Melodies like weapons fending off
for my protection, I don’t know whom,
for what lies beyond?
Angels, I want to know—why
are you watching? I would not look away
from any of the doubts, questions,
Tiger
Nothing to fear but fear itself, so roam the rivers and vines—
you won’t feel the hairs raise on your neck at the black
stripes on red once you’re already dead.
But some days, I go to lie in the thicket—
pause my mind’s deafening silent maneuverings,
the artful weavings of my bulky, firm heart.
Alphabet Ravine 