Sunday, June 10, 2018

A Tetractys

between your teeth,
and honey flows from the warmth of your mouth.

A prompt from

Saturday, June 2, 2018

Queen Mary

We made love on a haunted ship, leaning out the porthole under a full moon on Halloween.

Ten years later, 
I remember your laugh.

It's the warmest sound in the world, 
happy, sleepy and sometimes high.

My heart feels like your bedroom candle, 
the one made of psychedelic colors
that melted down the side of the dresser and swirled into a pool on the old hardwood planks
next to your bed.

I don't remember our bodies, or anything else.
Except, you didn't seem to notice the waxy mess.

Sunday, May 20, 2018

I think about the smell of the earth

I think about the smell of the earth
often in the spring, scent
of freshly fertilized fields
wafting softly over morning dew.

My nose instinctively crinkles and my emotions turn instinctively annoyed,
but I let the fertilized earth fill my lungs and I am filled with love
and a sense of protection over this place.

The smell of the earth reminds me
of what is real, of what is not
curated for our consumption.

The midwest farmers are real.
The midwest farmers are everything.
The midwest farmers are everything I am not.

I love them for this.

If you are not familiar with the midwest life
then you may not understand what it is
to be made of contradictions.

To all at once be judge and protector.
To all at once be thick and permeable.

Like the soil, the conditions have to be right.
Tillable, the desire to be turned over
irrevocably transformed.

Monday, May 14, 2018


We're slipping away
I said
your face told me to elaborate.

Away from what
I don't know
from where we came.

I have amnesia
every day
a different day but maybe not.

Suspended in jelly
my slow thoughts
follow my tendons visibly moving under my skin.

I am made of puppets
you said
I don't understand.

This jelly is red
I don't understand my pores.

the world in
to my skull I am sorry I did not protect you.

I should have
manipulated these hands
into the earth every day I go.

Sunday, May 6, 2018


Writing, rewriting
an elegy
almost daily
makes her feel more real to me
like back in ninety three
we were so silly
always laughing
our future planning
years together spanning
still now I'm weeping
sweeping, piecing
together broken feelings
of someone gone but never dead to me
trying to find the remedy
too blind to ever see
the love in front of me

Wednesday, April 25, 2018

Inverted landscape

But if I could just
cup the base of your neck in my hand
and pull you to meet me, breath to breath
your mouth to mine
I might be able to experience you
all of you at once, instead of in pieces.

But only after we share
a cup of loose-leaf tea and gentle smirks.

Can we float outside these walls, hand in hand.

Inverted landscape
the trees are purple against a sepia sky
and nothing is moving except the tips of the purple grass
under our worn sneakers, pointed toes, grazing.

But did I mention the floating. That's important.

Like in those movies where an unseen force
is pulling, pulling
leaning forward
the toes again, grazing the purple grass.

Friday, April 6, 2018

My breath is the salt spray

My breath is the salt spray
on your deep brown skin
as if we were ever on the same beach at the same time.
I reflect on those Los Angeles years
through a new lens
brown beach holidays when there was time to make the traffic-locked drive from east-side neighorhoods
we may as well have called the Westside whiteside as we stayed inside
I'm learning
about white privilege from black teachers
and now I almost know
what it feels like to never have had to speak for all the people of my racial group because
we are individuals
we have always been
I have never had to worry that my actions will reflect poorly on other white people.
I am sickened by this
realization that I have no history, no meaning, no shared experience
of depth I cannot fathom.
Cast me out to sea, I want to struggle
to stay afloat
to take into my lungs little gasps of air and water...
My breath is the salt spray
on your deep brown skin.

A NaPoWriMo prompt -

Thursday, April 5, 2018


I apologize, it's true
that I imagine us, cavalier
more violently alive than the world would have us

A NaPoWriMo prompt -

Wednesday, April 4, 2018

Long winter

It's April and snowing again
and the sounds of life slowly disappear
and I can't think of any other words except
and the landscape recedes, zooming away from my window, down the block
my ears suddenly ring with desperate silence
as I feel the weight of the window sill
lift beneath my warm finger tips
to let the isolation whoosh out of the bedroom window
and the smell of fresh nothing fill my lungs

A NaPoWriMo prompt -

Tuesday, April 3, 2018

Band Names

Fizzled Daydreams We Are
Perpendicular Universes
Colliding in Your Back Seat
Locked Into You
Until I Gaze Upon
Unexpected Pistachio
Ever So Slightly
Split Like Me

A NaPoWriMo prompt -