POETRY

“Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful.”
—Rita Dove
Landscape with Ash

You are strange, my mother said, dwelling on the past.

Getting Postcards From a Piano Showroom

The two of us toast to a man we both love, to whatever degree, clink our glasses and laugh…

Dis Place Ment

People have always coped with flooding, and they learned to cope with death.

melting ice cap
blue is the color of surrender

you know that
baby swallows make silver ripples
in wild rivers to court reeds?

robertson quay

how does an afternoon turn
on its axis?

Condolences

my friends’ fathers are
dropping
I mean dying
like flies

Dear Deer in the Compost Pile

I tap at the alphabet while a single deer
taps at the dirt beyond the brush
on the far side of the tree line.

Like dirt

this is what I want you to to see:
leaves falling because it is too late for them not to

You can’t make them love you, no matter how artfully you betray yourself

Try not to see your own predicament in every fucking thing.

Lavandula

Listen to me: I know
the winter gloom in
mid-summer…

3:17 AM as Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks

Part of being a good sad person
is always painting the shadows
in the right direction and knowing
what sorrow to art with.

Clueless & Briefly Gorgeous

I buy too much, for someone of my stature.
could pawn a skinny metaphor to purchase a plump skin.
its reputed in our lineage— to daydream a life that shreds our pockets.

All In

I don’t
know why
I’m in the garden
kneeling on dirt

Clotheslines

Ma wrings
a wet world
of colors

Good Driver

Lights on the dashboard spell out
“You still can’t kiss me”

An Interview with Dylan Krieger

Dylan Krieger’s poetry is unflinching, grotesque, and beautiful. Her work tackles trauma, wrestles authority, and is a decadent sonic feast.

Welcome To The House of Static

here is the sky in stop motion, flickering,
a still shot in monochrome

if detritus is all i’m made up of

my love is a glass shard, a knife made of madness and moonlight,
and there are already way too many fragments in this house

My Multiverses

It is the 70s. 1970s? 2570s? Who knows?
Audre and I have a penthouse in New York.