Feb 13


i saw a ghost last night when i was asleep. 

he walked up to me like it was nothing. didn’t talk at first. 

just side by side steps through an old empty school hallway

crooked glasses. hands ink-stained. 

it was so familiar. i was too shocked to speak. he asked what was wrong. 

i laughed. 

i told him. everything’s fine. 
it’s been a while since i’ve meant that. 

we turned a corner 

i opened my eyes. 

it was
just a ghost, that’s all.
Feb 02

shake it

Jan 05


reaching out 
ivy vine arms
dead at the ends-
void of your sunlight,
oxygen- your voice

i could write novels
with everything you
aren't saying 
Jul 09

red brick ribcage

looking through windows lit by yellow light from dusty
bulbs inside as dinner ensues:

a table.
five chairs. 
a man. three children. a woman. or just the empty outline of one. 

the peeling wallpaper is saturated with the ghosts that accumulate in a place after a century of standing still. 

who will wake them up to dance when family has fled and rot replaces the rhythm of life inside of you?
Jun 20

for summer:

it’s the heavy air
the parched grass’s thirst 
the dog napping sprawled on a weathered deck

it’s dirt collecting on calloused bare feet
it’s slivers on your palm and pollen in your nose 

the whine of insects and the distant chuckle of farm equipment

senses melded together because,
which one is which?

i’m stuck in the lull of it. 
and i wouldn’t change a thing
May 09

for my rainstorm

i wanna yank the sun down from its perch. 

a blue sky’s a blue sky but goddamn it’s so much prettier when it rains
then grey swallows me and my irises blend themselves with the world and it’s cold and my hair holds itself in ropes and i feel

it’s metallic and fresh and that smell like grass trees leaves flowers - Earth took in a big breath and sighed for the first time in a long time,
washing down roads soiled by cars like disgruntled beetles that like to grind grime into the asphalt, wiping their eyes frantically to remove any trace of cloud spit

water’s sucked down into storm drains 
white noise replacing birdsong 
and lightning illuminating life behind these panes of glass in irregular staccato pulses. 

the sun is up now, 
Apr 05

sunset(tle in)

cobweb filament shatters 
over your knuckle 
dust dissolving in a sunlight fountain 

catnap in a creaky pink 
recliner arms around 
the girl who writes you love notes 
orange glow through the 
crack between curtain and window

red light on your mouth, 
in her hair, warming posters on the walls 
holes in your blanket bunched up in the corner chapstick kiss on your forehead

what color are my eyes tonight, love?

black like the sky now

Mar 05

sans embellissement

my fingers are on strike 
or something like that. 
they refuse to work for my brain. 
they won’t write any more words at all. 

but i’ve had so many thoughts lately. 
thoughts alive with colors dripping from my 
eyelashes, after they fell from the sky

laughter cascading down a water slide in an inflatable tube, 
sunburnt and chlorine soaked, accidentally swallowed your bubblegum

a campfire midnight, holding marshmallow sticky hands 
talking about building a ladder to the stars, intermittently tasting the salt on your lips

abstract dreams and their flapper-dance, backflip, sunset energy 
grabbing the english language by the wrist and dragging him 
out of his chair for a few songs 

words and words and words tumble out of my thoughts,
tiny acrobats leaping over each other,
Dec 13

upside down

Dec 12


Dec 10

d r o w n.

tempestuous oceanstorm, i owe you my heart. 

my heart my lungs my warmth
though my rib cage,           (for which i have no key)
is locked, 

part my lips, past teeth over tongue
please tear through my throat 
rip my windpipe , claim your home there
replace air with raging saltwater
as i sputter and writhe

shred your name into my tensed muscles 
command your reckless torrents through my hair tangle knots in every strand strangle me with these golden tendrils,
decorate the matted mess with glittering pockets of oxygen torn from me in a 

take me back where you(‘ve always)      know(n) i belong. 

and at last, my debt has been paid.
Nov 15

sh att e r

The only thing protecting my feet from the shards were the thin rubber soles of my shoes. It was everywhere. The room was full of glistening, sparkling, perfect glass. I wanted to touch it. I wanted to taste the cold jagged edges mixing with my blood. I bent and gathered a handful of it and I closed my fist as hard as I could. Tears welled in my eyes as I felt the broken pieces pierce my skin. A grin spread across my face. Opening my hand I noticed that several chunks remained lodged in my palm. And my heart was beating faster than before. I turned my hands to drop what I had picked up. The sound of the pieces falling back onto the other glass was like music. A gentle twinkling. I couldn’t resist that. Discarding my sweatshirt in the corner, I shivered, and stepped into the rectangle of moonlight streaming in through the open window. I kicked off my shoes, now only wearing my bra and gym shorts. I lowered myself down and lay flat on my back, feeling my skin breaking.
Oct 23
poem 4 comments challenge: I Am

i am

i am who i am

i am blue eyes perched atop freckled cheeks, hiding
behind unruly curls of
dull gold
    i see

i am
a hastily-made birthday cake,
boxed mix and canned frosting-- spitting
flickering light onto the kitchen walls from
the tip of a candle you found in the drawer
next to the batteries and the scotch tape.

i am
snowflakes piling onto the corpses of this spring’s flowers
in your garden

i am haunted by the words you claim you never said,
their weight resting on my hands.

i am
the gravity that bounds you to this earth and i know
you wish you could cut yourself
free from me and all i want is to make that one wish come true
but i don’t know how - im sorry

i am who i am

Oct 12


through the lens i saw you
shudder in the cold.
i captured your paths detaching
frost from blades of grass,
scrunching your eyes with a
passing over your face.
glasses fogging up,
like smoke through dense
december air,,

i wonder why you always look happier on film.
Aug 28


we're clothed in only shadows
with a green blanket covering our heads.

your lips quivering in the dense summer
air, drooling honeyed words over my
eyes locked on the butterfly wing-curve of
my mouth.

the crickets' shrill violins are muffled by
the soft sigh of my breathing so close to your 

your lashes graze my shoulder as your lips
collide with my skin

and now 
these mosquitoes have seen what we've 
only whispered to the rest of the world.