POETRY

“Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful.”
—Rita Dove
Like dirt

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

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.

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.

Sadness is a Sin

If my life was the size of my arm, I would stretch it out for you.

Lobster

I suffer visions and many indignities
while looking for the Lobster

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

Me and Other Bodily Accessories

I am not a guide
for every traveler
of loss.

oh Manifesto

The collective
failure
of ethical standards

Fallout Shelter

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

I Garden at the Edge of Autumn

There is so little left of the tomato plants.

Observer of the Patient

Her brown eyes,
how a fig
considers itself.

melting ice cap
blue is the color of surrender

you know that
baby swallows make silver ripples
in wild rivers to court reeds?

Babylon

If America is Babylon / and you are an exile / newly arrived among pagans / Catholic, ‘Ngolan, Black, woman / you already know how to pray

On the Night Row-Houses Across the Street Catch Fire

You let the yellow glow
from eye sockets. The building up the street
is burning faster and faster.

Willpower

Live the rest of your life
from one worst case to another.

Electric Eels, Finishing School, Teeth

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

The Man

the man is stayed bent over the canvas
of my sofa. the man is me the man is him
self and I bring down the whip…