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

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

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

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

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.

love is a soggy tea stain on a grocery receipt

The sin is existing.

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

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.

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

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

my father holds
his favorite drink

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

I have an axe
with hearts gashed

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

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

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