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Poems

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  • The Little Engine

    He is not an engine that could. Busted up, broken and backward, call him “fucked-up,”

  • Oak Leaves as Young Musicians and Longing

    Frosted-glass window lit orange.

  • Volumes

    Certain mornings you can catch the sound

  • Words

    Words are loyal.

  • Rose-Scented Lotion | Blue

    The level of rose-scented lotion daily

  • The Departure | The Screamer

    Farewell my pond and all my many doves

  • The Cocoon, I Started Slowly & Morning’s Only Yellow

    Visiting my cousin’s church I found

  • The House

    With stained red awnings

  • A Girl Who Doesn’t Believe in Myths & I Have No One With Whom I Can Spit Toothpaste At Turns Into The Sink

    we went to the prophetess

  • Lost Leaders

    Some say that predatory sin was born of ignorance rather than

  • Letters from Earth & Sky

    The petals

  • Bodies on the Margins

    The artist understands blood; or rather