Cupid shot me through the heart
and wanted to know if I was still bleeding,
so I said, Cupid, what kind of blood is this?
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
Busy These Days
Soft and small and
hard like something that’s
been whittled away to
their inner rock
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,
Will-o’-the-Wisp
Lost in the dark,
all the little things I can imagine
like stars,
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.
Bargaining
I talk to you sometimes,
and make you say the dumbest things,
things that you would never say,
because every time I make you say
Daffodil
Black goes with everything except pastels,
but I don’t want a classy sky.
I want pink, yellow, robin’s-egg starlight,
to match how soft it feels—
Requite
Nausea
and vomit
and things I care about
Fight or Flight
My little brain
thinks it can help,
Alphabet Ravine 