POETRY

“Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful.”
—Rita Dove
Finding My Fix

I slumped in front of a massive desk, a passive patient corroded with failure and dread.

Observer of the Patient

Her brown eyes,
how a fig
considers itself.

Like dirt

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

oh Manifesto

The collective
failure
of ethical standards

Several someones

a folksome, gruesome opera
of gauze and malcontent.

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.

Back Suplex

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

The love of my life moved from portland to new england

He has stories that I am not in
anymore. It’s healed this way.

love poem with dead leaves & color

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

Electric Eels, Finishing School, Teeth

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

Going Broke

Winter sat like a wolf
on the horizon.

An Endeavor of Being Now

We stop doing dishes while
a mile unwinds
from the tree outside.

Pit Stop in Kansas

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

Soft Porn and Cuban Pine

It recommended
soft porn, as gentle prodding and petting parent
to parent might calm and soothe the kid.

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.

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.

The River

I myself should never have been born

painting of apple and grapes
Feast Of

anger, like you can sink teeth into, candy apple