Kyle Costa Poems

What small hands pointing at the placard, I note,
while noting towered labiates of smoke clouds: abrupt.
Sun run on & on & on,
finally finding finality in a pair of small hands, cupped.
...

Making things up to hold me over was
so much easier growing up. What got heavier,
the burdens or the years?
I wasn't built for this style of melee;
...

Filling gaps; looking deeply
at nuance to see about
changing how things are remembered
and experienced.
...

A mystery, not unlike how you
bought and sold me for profit
behind my back
while posing as a miracle reflected off
...

She reaches toward her internal mechanisms and nods,
little arenas of her voice summoned to speak.
She's shy, I know it.
He becomes alive with her words. I know it better
...

Mutter, mutter, mutter these words to yourself:

a meditation in deeply holding light between
...

Polished, fickle, filament.
We've redone every aspect of this tiny headspace—
nothing's left but the ensuite. Maybe that's what pulls
the scripture out of stomach. Poster child: drowned
...

Offer me up or auction me off.

Step aside and watch as all of these silly habits
...