POETRY

“Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful.”
—Rita Dove
A Way of Seeing

Just starlight and some small scribbling across vinyl.

Ode To the Dove Pt. VI (Avrom Sutzkever)

Yes I am guilty, I’m guilty. A sin was desirable then.
Bring the dancer back to the stalks.

Pit Stop in Kansas

we drove on through
the blue seal of morning as the turbines
turned and winked out their hearts

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.

i do not want to wait until it’s too late

the strands of your hair on the bathroom tiles aren’t sketching defeat. that’s you spitting disease in the face with another day you’ve woken up to.

Me and Other Bodily Accessories

I am not a guide
for every traveler
of loss.

Several someones

a folksome, gruesome opera
of gauze and malcontent.

Welcome To The House of Static

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

“Artifact,” as Translated from Gluberhöff’s Lexicon

Any still figure at mid-late evening, when the long shadows make even crumbs appear arranged like furniture.

Letter To a Young Poet

Do not say anything anybody else has said ever. Things are not “bleached by sun.”

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.

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…

love poem with dead leaves & color

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

There is an alternative universe

Ghosts for hire, whispers in her mouth,
cysts to feel, the symmetry of a gift.

The Body is a Sin

The sin is existing.

My Multiverses

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

Observer of the Patient

Her brown eyes,
how a fig
considers itself.

painting of apple and grapes
Feast Of

anger, like you can sink teeth into, candy apple

Going Broke

Winter sat like a wolf
on the horizon.