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Poems

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  • It was never he, | One might say I’ve fulfilled the miserable obligation of constructing myself.

    It was never he,

  • SHE-POETS CENTO

    Femininity is a sickness.  I open my eyes.

  • SUNDAYS | ALONE

    Mournful Sunday afternoons in winter,

  • Maria’s Yellow Coat

    I haven’t had

  • Poem Beginning with a Line from Levis

    As if we’re put on the earth to forget the ending,

  • Weather Report

    These white stripes of day achieve

  • Country of Other Arrangements and Spinach Salad

    I used to be neatly folded, sound

  • Pensé Que Estabas Muerto

    but your deaths existed the nights you didn’t come home.

  • Looking Back on My Libido

    It wasn’t love; it wasn’t even sex—

  • The Authentic Galleries

    Begin again.  Begin with the wound.

  • take heed, hazard

    what could it have been

  • Hurricane: Hera | Squall: Echo

    You never hear of Ixion, tied to a revolving wheel,