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Poems

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  • Bookish | Brush Your Fingers Through Your Hair, Why Don’t You?

    The bookishness that

  • BOOK OF HOURS

    A jostle of stars at the edge of the Crab Nebula pinpoints the heart of Taurus. Under the right conditions, with a

  • Book of Dolls

    The psychoanalyst has left the building

  • Bodies on the Margins

    The artist understands blood; or rather

  • Blueshift

    In another life I’m a cosmologist, lungs snow-

  • Blues

    Why is there careful language

  • Blueprint and Ancient Story

    The poem I want to build needs a vestibule

  • Blue Rim

    Set the table with your heirloom

  • Blown Away

    There’s something stuck in my throat, it might be the red-eyed

  • Blond for All the Boys

    Frank Ocean didn’t mean anything to me till Dave said check

  • Block Party

    Start Me Up! was what started it--Monica Litzkus from up

  • Blind Trust

    In the nod of a cow as, stiff-legged,