Aug 20

Cabbage Patch Blues

This season is one 
of rot and poison 
where buzzards circle 
and insects swarm;
Digging and burrowing 
through the layers of waxy leaves,
releasing rancid plumes
that drive out any other living thing. 
Scores of holes - tunnels 
rimmed with blackened sludge
and delving inwards 
where the damage has become far too deep.

This season is one 
where we stand 
in plumes of biting flies,
by mounds of molted leaves
strewn across fields 
which used to be alive. 
Jun 10

Scrapyard Triolet

Among those mounds of cold barbed wire 
you seem much more at home.
Your heart belongs to thorns and briars
among those mounds of cold barbed wire.
And though you say you need to find her,
since we left her alone
among those mounds of cold barbed wire,
you seem much more at home.
Jun 10

Says The Girl Who Fell Triolet

“Don’t jump,” he said,
“From this height you will fly.”
But caring words are useless to the dead.
“(don’t) Jump” he said.
I guess those words had jumbled in my head.  
who knows what he had really meant, I
Don’t. “Jump,” he said,
“From this height you will fly.”

Jun 09

An Invite to an Insect Lover

come in.
you are welcome in my heart.

but watch your step
there are centipedes polishing the floors

don’t mind the bees
busy as they are
have a seat and they’ll serve you soon

make sure to wave 
to the caterpillars climbing the walls
they crave company

but don’t go too close
to the ant nest by the stairs
they are working now
and don’t care for guests

as you make yourself at home
in my insectarium heart.

May 23

Context For A Twisted Ankle

May 12

To the Midnight Mourner

Late at night in the cover of darkness,
the young woman cries in her sleep.
She cries for the baby bird with the broken wings
who she buried early that morning.
She cries for her homeland,
a place where the sun never sets and the young never die.
She cries for her pots of flowers
that wilt in the wintery winds.
She cries for her brother,
her lover,
every man she knows,
because they are not permitted to cry for themselves.
She cries for her father,
who she never met,
and her mother,
who has become a stranger to her in this country.
She cries for her sister,
sent off to a loveless marriage far away.
Late at night, the young woman cries 
for everyone and everything she knows.
And she hopes,
that someone,
cries for her too.
May 12

Early Morning Vertigo

Who told the cormorant to dive so deep inside me?
No one. She chose to ride the midnight wind
and swoop through my body while I slept,
settling in as the sun began to rise.

And when the golden glow makes the shadows dance over to me,
and pry my eyes open in a sudden start,
I feel her tuck her wings,
hunching down before taking flight. 

If only I could warn her first,
that the walls of my chest surround her still,
And as she tries to lift up into the open air,
she’ll take my beating heart with her.

She drags it high above my ribs,
before plunging deep towards my guts.
She squirms, disturbing its constant rhythm,
twisting it around inside of me until my feet have hit the ground.

Then the all of a sudden her grip is broken,
and my heart resumes its job,
sending her spiraling out the window and into the sky,
a whooping cormorant made in waiting.

May 04

In a Lovesick Wood

Apr 26


Feb 27

February 27th

lily pads floating in the streams

of my salty tears flowing

down my cheeks and into puddles

where frogs stretch their legs

and daisies start blooming

for your butterfly kisses

which dry up the brooks

and refill them

with flowing water lilies

shining in my fresh water tears