Category: Poetry

I have the reds. I vomited blood on the bed. / Listen. I have no ear for music but music // won’t leave me alone. It dry heaves, / pours itself another

Watch their mystical dance. Pour champagne from glass into an empty iced tea jug we’ll all / hug today at least once. Here, we gather around evening fires, listen to the difference the / lake makes after dusk.

Let them nestle among you with their arms crossed in delicate twists. Caw again so I can / hear you. Caw again so I know you’re still around. Lone fir and pitch moss; all the water,

No point threatening us: we will not stay away from the boarded shack and its mice, splinters, / loose nails, oily dust in our clothes and mouths

lord god the big big man in the sky big big man of our one / room shack nailed & hammered out of dead gods daddy / felled himself / to fasten a roof as sky stars made of light bulbs

i refused to waste the brand new life i made tamarra / understood not to push you on me kept her back turned / while she rocked you so i didn’t get used to your look or / your smile or register you squinted the way i squint

This house retains its pleasant ghosts— / in the spare bedroom, faint leaves / on the wall, under the pale pistachio paint.

What is gravity in the middle of a black ocean, / in waves and wind and violent under pull.