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Poems

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  • The Epileptic

    Conversations with him are like waiting for thunder.

  • The End

    Whatever is coming is the end, but not really.

  • The Encounter

    Drizzle and formless

  • The Elms | For the Collection

    Workers were cut; had to be done for . . . corporations

  • The Easy Way to Stop Drinking

    We are as flies in a pitcher plant,

  • The Drowned and the Saved

    If all of us were to try to kill ourselves at least once, then all of us would know nothing more than that: which is why

  • The dream and Useless is as useless doesn’t

    For awhile I had a drawer full of electronic stuff,

  • The Dragonfly

    Diamond-crusted wings flying an armored syringe

  • The Doorway | Wants

    Two things she wanted among the left-behinds when her parents moved

  • The Dolls’ House Mysteries

    A woman lies so tidily

  • The Dog Days of August and Elaine’s Story

    What huge effort to move through

  • The Dirty Orgasm, The Eleanor Ross Taylor Poems & Aren’t You Ashamed

    I know what you think. I’m the orgasm poet. I have nothing else to write about. I should stop.