Seven Road

View the full text of this poem. I. it’s a white witch kind of Sunday air like a dream catcher, crystal leaves, and all  the pixies from the night before are still standing,  rusted eyeshadow, breasts of wind  and hairs crossed like the  silk of a gin fizz on the back your throat i woke [...]

Salt Lick

once upon a— no forget it— **THERE IS NO SUSTENANCE HERE.** this house of bones and hero worship, scraping us all down to the knees, under covers clinging faithless by the knuckles to celebrity skin like cheap porn or moldy wallpaper *best scrubbed thoroughly in the bathroom sink* another shitty politician a can of Pringles [...]

Lim-bo

This post is a creative exercise. A stream-of-consciousness style free-write, which I like to think of as “coaxing.” A means of getting myself in a “poetic” state of mind—of generating ideas, metaphor, and rhythm. I normally draw only a handful of useful images or concepts from this kind of exercise, but something charmed me about [...]

Lady Song

what i want my dear, is a  flickering, a little leaping, oh, yes a  prodding delicate as a  nail, a candle only partially burning, a kiss on  the tops of the  ears and the drift of a nightgown thin as baby powder, oh, just a little  look, my dear,  a shiver of the  eyelashes, a [...]

Wild Thing

There’s something taking shape beneath the night’s long hair I wish I wasn’t there to see it crowns resting on the heads of all the devils two hips and a sewn up corset a valley like an open cage, a mouth with no eyes, and the lips of a wild thing curled to the toes [...]

Graffiti

what i need is a crayon so i can fill in all the gaps in the colors of the alphabet and all the numbers that code the bars of the graphs that tell us how old we are and how tall we should be and how fast our hearts should be beating and to what [...]

Flo On

the day’s a stale word  the kind that’s afraid of an honest mouth (a thing so  strangely made)  a conversation like  a broken arrow, busted wind  and a tree of fire, death at  the roots of the all the palms,  and a half-flung syllable  that punches like an empty fist i don’t know about you [...]