heat you spoke to me in the language of divinity: your words, a prophecy. your touch, a laying on of hands – a prelude..
Droop Song shaped like a light bulb in a distant home, like the earth on the eye of a telescope lit by sunbeams greenshadows..
lakes and confessionals i kneel before the confessional. the priests’ voice is driftwood on a lake of abuses; it reminds me of beatings. how can..
A kiss remembers; how tongues launched bodies into orbits of white nothing, milky ways of no worries, eyes shut beneath a river of twisting..
“I don’t usually do this” Your mumbled half-lie drops through the air alongside his belt. Eyes dart left, then right, then left, then right..
I wonder what rainbows feel like, what it tastes like having heaven on your lips. There is a rebirth that comes with the rains..
SEMINAL BLUES (Post conversation with death) “Dying / Is an art, like everything else.” -Sylvia Plath, “Lady Lazarus” Your words do not meet..
After Jennifer Perrine We do not want the hate, no ghost boys wandering about cities that should be home, no sticks calling..
still life with the evangelist have you heard the gospel? – did you know that birdsong..
I am furling like arcs of tendrils unknown. Perhaps it is the rhythm wafting from your country; or the way of waters, how they hold..
