POETRY

“Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful.”
—Rita Dove
Time Travel

I count my homes—
those of my scattered youth
the sanctuary of our young family
the intermittent rest stops
of apartments and vacations.

Electric Eels, Finishing School, Teeth

Millions of Americans have been affected by identity theft. It’s probably the greenhouse gases.

Fallout Shelter

I imagined a cascade of slow death for all / that mattered…

appetites

you quit wearing pants
loaf around your yard
in hole-nipped panties

love poem with dead leaves & color

I would always rather be happy than
dignified. Rather held than held
in awe.

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.

things they won’t tell you but should:

love is a soggy tea stain on a grocery receipt

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…

The Body is a Sin

The sin is existing.

Aging Punks

Every so often, they add a tattoo
in honor of some long-forgotten love.

REVENGE SCENE

Okay, picture this: We’re in an elevator. The elevator shuts down. It doesn’t matter where we’re going, only that we’re alone.

necromancer woman, witch woman

In my universe, my arm carries a heart and flowers,
my back a misguided quote

Back Suplex

Gravel-scatted hell &
we were blessed to be able
to hold on for even a heartbeat

Tea

my father holds
his favorite drink

A Beautiful Thing

I want to roll in this moment until I become its vocabulary
until I smell like the bones
until I am its echo…

Observer of the Patient

Her brown eyes,
how a fig
considers itself.

The Kotel in Jerusalem is Filled with Cracks

We found in his suitcase T-shirts, his siddur, gifts he bought for his grandchildren…

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

woman at bar
After She Told Me You Pushed Her Down the Stairs

Empty vessels
make the most sound, I think,
as you rip the fairy lights off the handrail.