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Poems

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  • Practicing Eights

    After I almost died, it was hard

  • Powder

    Yesterday I opened your pill box, and there

  • Pour Ainsi Dire

    Drinking. What is boozing? If not a liquid manner of corresponding, thanks to wine,

  • Potato | The Surface

    I do not want to finish my potato,

  • POSTSCRIPT

    You’re wasting time. Your lilac needs pruning. By the shed,

  • Posthumous Cabin

    And got away to it, and left the work to others

  • POSTCARD WITH A CITY’S AERIAL VIEW AT NIGHT

    To think that each lit window there

  • POSTCARD

    always the dark body hewn asunder; always

  • Post-

    Clenching, unclenching her thin white fingers,

  • Post Structuralism

    But the first idea was not to shape the clouds

  • Post Mortem

    You might not see the bodies in the famous photo

  • Possibility of Erasure | There Are Corpses Buried in Them

    It is snowing this morning.