This tag is associated with 25 posts

oar or ore

the map bumps and waves with ridges that aren’t mountains just the suffering swelling from the beginning with water ready  to wet the world in burning like a fire in winter or the one at the top  of the snowy peak that keeps me alive fingers footing a path after i’ve lost my way back … Continue reading

decapitate winter

the summer in her breath settles the city inside shade providing momentary coolness where i bungle my words against a wall of teeth like like like i like you but she’s gone addressing the harvest that will come from someone else not like me * poetry is me sitting here stuck wishing i was standing … Continue reading

our father

if night could talk it would moan about morning and how daylight hurt the eyes though it would also say it couldn’t see much anyways * it was the sweaty summer where the sun swelled like a single organism swallowing the sky that i was born again in myself i wet with i a reverse … Continue reading

a relationship at a distance

her crane legs constructing the city with a meaning that wades through the water of air heavy with tears that have since evaporated into the summer shaved on her skin where she sees me shakes and turns to the sun setting into hesitant horizon * a good poem contains all of it for the poetry … Continue reading


this much i know is true: there are no truths and i know much of nothing * there is no such thing as good poetry only poetry in good things like when you are standing in a forest with the mist of a waterfall whispering your way towards an escape from a summer’s day that … Continue reading


big blind i fold wrinkles won * numbness in growth leads me to not feeling and not being sharp enough to figure out the solution to the cycle that tightens like a noose till numbness * take in the air and find that winter smells like burning and summer is cool nights where we can … Continue reading

sick summer

summer is sick throwing up on itself into fall where the city burns itself with the lights of buildings and night that look like stars against the loneliness and dark for like them the buildings are empty with no one around and there is only one me staring outward hoping for someone to notice me … Continue reading

Sundays of August

August is a Sunday where rain brings the smell of fall from the dwindle of dandelions and sunflowers and the tried and tired sunbathers who don’t go in because the water is too cold when they are just too warm and the day is almost over as the Mondays of September tumble in =

A lifebuoy made from rocks

to live, let summer seep, sit by a talkative stream, listen to how the day passes in long yawns alongside you only to return without you like the rocks whose screams are mistaken for quiet joy while they drown under the current and your reflection * The world was made for summertime and the birds and … Continue reading

Mocha and me

The sun chokes on cloud and I am where I was when I was. Ten years ago was the last time. The first, I’m not sure. Ten years before that, I believe. Three to twenty-three. Not speaking to speaking to not speaking again. Baby talk throughout. Even here, now, at 50 Point Conservation area in … Continue reading