This is not a poem of leaving those velveteen branches or that frowning hedge at the yard’s edge. This is…
The figs, arranged in still life, as if by Chardin’s quiet violence; the house exists to hold them. Bruised bodies beaded dark wet,…
The kitchen full of babies roosting on high shelves like cups for punch one by one she pinches…
We could live suspicious, breathing to bleed—but my mouth had nothing for strange quiet. I was too much,…
I. Unmedicated visionary, full-time armchair operator— he could turn a truckbed of scrap lumber to a hen house squared-up enough…
We fill the void behind our teeth with silence, the grinding of wedding rings against knife handles a language of…
& what do we say to the boy digging the sand to find his love?…
Emma and I drunk took a bath swimming as a sloppy fish on another night that we’d never recall in full detail.…
MY LINEAGE ETCHED IN PIXELS MY BODY TRANSLATED TOO MUCH FOR ANOTHER MAN’S EYES I LIVE UP TO MY STEREOTYPE,…
[wc_row][wc_column size="two-third" position="first"] Half a day’s pushing couldn’t shove me into the world, so they snipped me from her stalk.…
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