Category: poetry
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If I Told You
the algorithm of a snail the reservoir of apple-colored streets that sleeps inside a poem this poem that combs its hair on a diagonal of stars and reconstructs the imaginary language of a blue dress, of a butterfly on the small of my back, of your hands like a fatal half moon detached from all…
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If Not for the First Time
Woman No. 1, paper collage, 2021 a convulsion of dandelions the angle at which the suncontemplates your facethe square root of matterthe crudeness of formthe bleak, unpleasant smells of trafficor, perhaps, the absence of a butterfly in a pair of frail, outstretched handsthe artist retreatsnothing ventures; nothing sails
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The Fig Tree
a fig tree in continuous sunlightthe landscape folds on its limbsas if to say, every body is its own reason for being a sparrow calls its name, looks upon what isn’t thereeverything thrives; nothing movesbut the living
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Necessary People
Premonition, paper collage, 2022 the heart is an ideala solitaire of apron stringsthe morning chorus is a yellow jacketwithout raina goldfish a solipsism of staircasesfinite, until proven otherwise all the necessary people ask themselves if a radio without handsis as surreal as a pocket knifeif the antidote to sunshine isn’t more sunshine in a panif…
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We’ve Been Here Before
We’ve Been Here Before, mixed media collage, 2022 all of these words; none of these words the promise of motion, the expectation of form a window is severed a note written in pencil, half-erased: i wish to exit the anthill less is almost always less the moon, these days, is extravagantly long a head, but…
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In Plain Sight
an ant in plain sight a molecule with or without limbs refusing to live, refusing to die a mouth midway between lovers a kiss that makes the sun shine differently a blade of grass in context is a gutter of meaning the first principle of enlightenment: capturing a dove in unadulterated sunlight the contents of…
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Other People Make Plans
Plans, paper collage, 2022 other people make plans other people linger on sidewalks counting nickels, stomping dead fish other people are telescopes make countries out of windshield wipers make self-portraits of empty clouds worship astronauts from 100 years ago the moon is flat, they say and so is my grandfather’s grave a landscape retained deep…
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Impromptu Butterfly
today, i force myself to do nothing a legless meditation an impromptu butterfly an unintended woman tiptoeing around a garden daffodil in body and in soul i am struck by the commas in her hair a satellite in empty shoes reminding us what we’re capable of
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Feeding June
(revised from an earlier version) there are no answers; only instruments a butterfly, a tango, an empty glass a river, scandalous and electric summoning the voice of god under a wild oak tree every pleasure has a reason every body tears itself apart: to be sacred, and then die again as the best of rebels…
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Handlebars
i. an armchair doesn’t attach to life a cactus doesn’t make promises doesn’t shed tears over lemonade or wet suitcases this secret we’d rather forget what is eaten what is remembered ii. adrift on wood imagining we’re freer now than we used to be that this is inevitable the houses we used to live in…
The Used Life 