breathe in.Read More
This silence does not cease
and smoke in lungs becomes a sticky forest
where women die.
Truly men are like that—
The six bodies were found in the spring
covered by eight o’clock news
beneath wet snow and layers of air.Read More
"I’m trying to think of words that describe softness
warm fur and sunshine and flowers and round clouds of cigarette smoke you gift me.
I’m trying to uncomplicate how I feel about these things that smell like danger
and why we’re drawn to men like wolves, howling in the night, hungry."
good thingsRead More
but also her morning songRead More
The beat of boats and floating bridges.
The beat of your hair against mine.Read More
In the white silence of your comb
glistening between the strands of your
pines creak in the distance
quiet rustlings of a waking forest
tall growth and mist.
Both unseen but felt
on your skin,
and under your feet.
Moss breathing out the names of past lovers.
Who has lain with me here?
Comfortably silent and full
belly round as the moon, writing new notes
for her night orchestras.
The discipline of peace and full mouths.
The addiction to air.
Fill yourself with me
and try to sing.
From that place that people leave
from the place where time tells you stories
and ascends into signs on the dirty blue ceiling,
I come to where we are.