You don’t know the grip of vice until it’s a noose around your heart.
Trust me- if it went around the neck,
I wouldn’t have made it this far.
…I’d have made it nowhere!
It crunches like the tiger’s jaws
that you never see-
you simply die!
Very few lightning bolts can get the sound right-Read More »
The thing about having your house burn down
in the 2K’s as a teenager
is you totally lack control. I
know; I can tell.
Because I’ve tried to find clothes
that were cute, clean, and matching,
and warm preferably,
in time to escape the fire
that’s interrupted my shower
with brisk November air.
Yes, the thing about having your house burn downRead More »
You are in my heart, annoyingly-
a shadow,
a remnant,
a ghost I cannot truly grasp,
a crevice nothing else will fit inside.
So I write poetryRead More »
It is the trauma that teaches me to warn of my threshold of pain,
high as the pilot’s realm where the air is clear,
the sky is above, and the ground is clouds beneath your feet.
Threshold of pain is the title, but the real name is mask,
strong as my steel iron soul; They will both break as one.
It is the shards of my very self that I keep cutting my foot onRead More »
He’s still got the same humour. He’s just lost his sense of it. He
tells the same jokes a fraction of the time.
He was divided from the light for so long
that it all seems heavy.
So much for his diaphragm to lift was that laugh.
He’s on the same trajectory, but he’s further along,
and every little stepRead 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.
not in my lap
but upon my head
the structure pillars walls
collapsed
not in a pileRead More »
Oh mirage,
translucent ghost!
Tortoise barely ahead of the hare,
child of the warm, lasting hugs from the golden age,
then child around whom I could never secure my arms-
I can tell it is coming, for it’s already here-
love like moisture in humid air, about to rain down.
Whispering through the rustling leaves, tickling my ear,
anticipation comes long before thunder sounds.
I can tell it is coming, for it’s already here.
As vividly felt as transporting scent-Read More »
Alphabet Ravine 