My mother just handed your story to me one day
I couldn’t tell you how old it is, only that the words
are perpetually sixteen
Fresh, like the rain on page 275,... more »
i dream you as a stray cat
untethered, dark-eyed girl,
yawning your way around another frozen,
yellow-lit street corner... more »
I don’t have a garbage disposal
And when I don’t take the garbage out everyday
The fruit flies start to gather on the old watermelon in
The sink,... more »
They were sweet-sad, I think,... more »
A) fragmented life story
interiority, if you will (i called this one 'alone')
your eyes provoke the night’s conscious panting,
a tangible thickness that collects ceaselessly on all four sides ...... more »
they are nothing, the Autumn
tiny feet that tread steadily toward
undisclosed locations... more »
They were sweet-sad, I think,
Created by some angel of desperate happiness.
Restless and black, a thousand lonely fragments of light collecting
In a pool of shine at the middle.
God ran his tongue slowly over his bottom lip
And lowered his eyes
That’s what I’d like to think
I’d like to think this was hard for Him.
You didn’t know, did you?
Do you now?
Imagine it as a sideways look from
A dozen roses on
The grayest day of the year.
And imagine it now, so there won’t be any ...