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Met this kid who asked why I looked the way I looked and I said it’s cause I wanted to look the way I looked and he said it wasn’t much to look at and I saw myself for the first time, though I had to look away. * You’re a poet so you should … Continue reading
Scribbles was a tough pussy with a pink bow that tied a knot of golden tuffs just above his lips that would hover over the bowl of water while you watched and he refused to take a drink because he didn’t want to show a sniff of vulnerability even if that meant he would die … Continue reading
Bury the bodies where they lay and lay down still like a beast when you tire She cries before we say a word to each other, and years have been silenced in the perfect sentence that expresses all we need to without expressing anything, that attempts to say what can’t be said but is said … Continue reading
I am convinced that there is nothing in this world like love, except for when love is torn away, ends, is no more, and will be no more for there is nothing in this world like love. * To watch the news is to learn what it is to feel old and helpless. * I … Continue reading
Earth’s a cemetery while humans live. Let them both rip each other apart. * Write me down in poems for I wish each line of me to comprise its own being, each pause to be reflective, each space to be an empty wholeness, each moment to be distilled and complete even if I am only … Continue reading
My swimming instructor drowned, leaving me stranded and wondering what technique I had spent perfecting would make me sink. * A beginning poet will always write about love. An experienced poet will always write about lost love. And a poet at the last lines of their life will always write about the love that made them … Continue reading
The train gurgles with people who gurgle to other people about their days, weather and the way in which the world works, which includes days and weather and me, sitting and looking and seeing what appears to be myself in someone else, the fried spaghetti for hair, the nose like a snail shell, the crust … Continue reading
He loves me like a mouth to a lame kiss that burns common sayings but leaves no mark for he, Mark as he’s known, makes no noise while caressing my hand and using the fleshy fold to pray that he will not ruin the bare moment. What have I done to deserve this? * The fossil … Continue reading
Write me a letter and I’ll see a dictionary of you and I in between the dear and period that is the first in English that goes on when after the end in my reply and in the lack thereof. * I wasted my hands wrangling this poem and your neck. * People read poems to get … Continue reading
Dear dear, I slobber. I suppose you know this in your ceaseless scrub-scrubbing of bedsheets, the pillows that dribble with drizzles of enzymes and undigested food, and the hair that holds prime nibbles and germs. Your mouth too, from my kisses. It’s been a while since I’ve kissed you, and a while longer since my … Continue reading
