Ma wrings a wet world of colors
love is a soggy tea stain on a grocery receipt
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.
a folksome, gruesome opera of gauze and malcontent.
it’s touch-and-go with me and weddings
Lights on the dashboard spell out “You still can’t kiss me”
You’ve spent a lifetime training for this.
You let the yellow glow from eye sockets. The building up the street is burning faster and faster.
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.
here is the sky in stop motion, flickering, a still shot in monochrome
my love is a glass shard, a knife made of madness and moonlight, and there are already way too many fragments in this house
four-thirty a.m.
In my universe, my arm carries a heart and flowers, my back a misguided quote
I want to roll in this moment until I become its vocabulary until I smell like the bones until I am its echo…
this is what I want you to to see: leaves falling because it is too late for them not to
There is so little left of the tomato plants.
I am still waiting for the lion
you know that baby swallows make silver ripples in wild rivers to court reeds?
We found in his suitcase T-shirts, his siddur, gifts he bought for his grandchildren…
I like to think I’m also sprung, released from the furnace knocks, done with the heavy meat stews and salty soups.