Posts
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Sweet/Sour
In a found place, a sheltered place, a jealous place, I eat my heart.
It tastes like fresh strawberries and rotten secrets. -
Close
A warm morning,
touch the corpse.
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A Photograph, a Stranger's Face
A stranger's face, a mild wonder of afternoon light.
the treadmill rolls on, hot cement, jogging sweats,
I’ll see you again in my memories of tomorrow, my dreams, -
Our Stories
I drink from cupped hands, fresh water, fresh blood, fresh weeping. There is iron in our skin, solder. You play a winter melody like it’s a hearth fire. Hungry, hungry, whole, watching our souls ripple outwards. We are our stories.
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Spring Break: a Reflection on Vacations
God, it’s finally spring. I can feel my face burning as I read out on the patio this morning. I wish that spring meant something other than an unfounded, unsubstantiated brightness that threatens oblivion and a terrible headache. -
Semiotics/ Semantics
We, big-brained humans, distill the sensual into semiotics.
But cracked open, cracked up, stopped at the stop sign,
I’m made aware of the prickly hairs growing out of my skin,
of the virulent grass pushing through the cement.
Loves
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Wildfires in Autumn
Sirens sound, at 2:00 am. My heart pounds as I look out my apartment window and into the smoke.
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Pumpkin season
I’m four years old and it’s pumpkin season again.
I’m holding tightly to my best friend’s mittened hand
and feeling the wind whipping at my face,
turning the tip of my nose pink,
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The lost boat
I am a lost sailor
Pulling
Tugging at
The boat
The wave
Here
Crashing down on me
Ripping my soul into
As many pieces as there are grains of
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Hand-Scrawled Lines
I want to breathe
Both with looming skyscrapers,
And mountains stretched high,
To feel the sun
Smiling on my skin,
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I Bake America - Inspired by the "I, Too, Sing America" poems
If my life, my American life, was a table setting
Laid out lovingly by all my ancestors.
It would have the usual trappings:
