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Dear dear, I have seen that beautiful life. Over these ten days, I have woken alongside the miracle of you, watched the light linger a little longer on the horizon of your back, held the fruit you shared with me like a lover’s chin, laughed at the jokes I couldn’t always understand but still found … Continue reading
Dear dear, I think of my life in two ways. On one side there is an immense tragedy of the unfulfilled, the deadening day where I watch myself sink into misery and depression, where I am cheated on, abused, and brutalized, where I am convinced I am nothing, and where there is mediocrity displaced greatly, … Continue reading
Dear dear, I adore you. I have to start with that common, misused, adorned phrase for sometimes, the most obvious facts bear repeating. Against the falseness, they barrel through. Against the swell of disappointments, they ground. Against me, I hope there is you, adored and yourself. I mean all of it. All of you. You … Continue reading
Dear dear, Kurt Vonnegut wrote that the best piece of all of literature was from King Lear. When the climax is winding down, and the characters have shown themselves to be vile, and there is nothing left to salvage, King Lear perishes. Among all the metaphors and metonyms and entire neologisms that Shakespeare could have … Continue reading
Dear, First, your eyes. The shape of the earth bathing happily in itself; stolen sunlight caught on a hot, giving solstice’s day just before the golden auburn tumbles behind the hills; years pocketed away into a little secret like a schoolboy crush; the wet world after raw rain when the waters learn how to kiss … Continue reading
You and him, Marriage wastes. I have seen the fumbling fall of my grandparents, the way that has been years since they have really spoken to each other, how their hands forget what it means to be held, though the wrinkles keep the memories of worn adoration. I have watched my parents tussle over divorce … Continue reading
Dear the Hiring Committee of Poets & Writers, My application began twelve years ago. I was twelve and he was thirty three and we were in love. I apologize for beginning with the smatterings of pedophilia and without introducing myself in the usual professionalism and pleasantries fitting for someone who is pleasant and fit and … Continue reading
are we only we in the broken things must we continue to bleed on those who never wounded us who do you talk to now that you are alone like a scab does the moon behind your chest still hold a reflection in the knife can butter still bend the metal where are you … Continue reading
where are the herds the wild wolves that would massacre this hopeful innocence still hopping into each day the maddening light that cannot reach the deep breath of the forest everything has been cut down and domesticated even the spring has a plan nowadays for what will grow when it will be you … Continue reading
to breathe beyond these shadows i must look elsewhere than where your absence leaks into the late afternoon dark underneath the door light curling behind the curtains like a cat we had together before it died to destroy the love left in my bones i must wade beyond the treeline against the hefty hues … Continue reading
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