I want to roll in this moment until I become its vocabulary until I smell like the bones until I am its echo…
and then her eyes fully opened — blazed through with strands of mud
anger, like you can sink teeth into, candy apple
I count my homes— those of my scattered youth the sanctuary of our young family the intermittent rest stops of apartments and vacations.
I imagine that undressing a color, though, would be so much like peeling a memory away from the grey and the white matter of your brain.
Ma wrings a wet world of colors
my father holds his favorite drink
Lights on the dashboard spell out “You still can’t kiss me”
you know that baby swallows make silver ripples in wild rivers to court reeds?
Millions of Americans have been affected by identity theft. It’s probably the greenhouse gases.
Dylan Krieger’s poetry is unflinching, grotesque, and beautiful. Her work tackles trauma, wrestles authority, and is a decadent sonic feast.
Now that the Israeli has left, it falls on me to make the salad.
I slumped in front of a massive desk, a passive patient corroded with failure and dread.
You’ve spent a lifetime training for this.
Long after midnight, we’re talking about our first time
We stop doing dishes while a mile unwinds from the tree outside.
People have always coped with flooding, and they learned to cope with death.
how does an afternoon turn on its axis?
I am still waiting for the lion
The sin is existing.