POETRY

“Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful.”
—Rita Dove
A Beautiful Thing

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

REVENGE SCENE

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.

Landscape with Ash

You are strange, my mother said, dwelling on the past.

Drowning in sky

I have observed, the theorist
I am

An Endeavor of Being Now

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

Hollywood Hills
the remarkable thing

I am still waiting for the lion

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.

Going Broke

Winter sat like a wolf
on the horizon.

Snow Falls from Branches

Should have found a job by now; should have slept in the night;
should have boiled old coffee before noon.

Observer of the Patient

Her brown eyes,
how a fig
considers itself.

Back Suplex

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

Several someones

a folksome, gruesome opera
of gauze and malcontent.

Finding My Fix

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

Electric Eels, Finishing School, Teeth

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

Sadness is a Sin

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

The Body is a Sin

The sin is existing.

A Way of Seeing

Just starlight and some small scribbling across vinyl.

Fallout Shelter

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

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.