Searching
The magic carpet comes undone,
Red strings unravel, fly everywhere,
High winds downtown.
Poetry
347 works
The Iron Gate
The door leads nowhere you’d want to be.
Explore the negative spaces, the devil’s work
through your fragile, young body.
My Dying Father Reminds Me of an Octopus
Water is the meter of how long he will live.
Except, he does not drink today
and he did not drink yesterday.
Visual Poetry
A visual poem triptych — best viewed on a larger screen. Tap any page to open full-size.
I. The Frill of Solitude
II. The Scent of Love
Both Hands in the Piss-bucket
lose all ridiculous sense
inherent substance of my existence--
fuck the weary laggard cowards
To Her Critic
Her poems digest what you keep:
this unusual, spirited skepsis that reeks
of performance and sleek derogatory
To A Man of Letters
Listen and identify
what your worst nightmare is.
It’s come alive through words and letters.
Letter K.
She’s been through the abyss
and lives with sweaters.
She’s seen lies, and goodbyes.
I Stole a Piece of Tomorrow
I stole a piece of tomorrow
from your house and our belonging.
I fell for my longing,
DADDY ISSUES
Destined child, her future’s bright as the golden walls of Olympus
That is before being born a daughter of a man whose dad mistaken love for violence
The father’s missteps was her grandfather’s wretched care
Discourse On Love
“...It is, for when the spontaneity
has been removed by either man or woman,
the other shall receive this sudden backstep