Every day I carry a shoeful of sand to my square office where,stumbling from edge to edge, I bruise like a baby and age like one. If I bring my own supplies, I figure,I can at least blunt the corners of the reception desk, deodorize the salmon in the fridge, andsmother the robot at the […]
face me Oxymandias / open your stone eyes / this world has changed
Pale hands beckon like open flame / foxfire on your lips / leads me deeper into your swamp / like folk tales of buried treasure / that I want to make true.
1. cutting a pear / 2. the storm petrel does not land until it dies
On the longest day of the year / we wait for nightfall, slouching on / your grandmother’s porch, pack / of cigarettes balanced on the arm / of your plastic lawn chair.
I am the place where / hooves join dirt / where fur and flesh / meet and cut apart
in velvet grasp of eternal night / a building wrapped in strips of glass, light / slicing bravely through starless dark / so utterly alone, fragile before shadows.
I’m so glad / you killed her— / my doe-eyed sister / who could not read or dance or carry a worthwhile conversation, / who had no might despite her name / but powered a thousand ships with her blood.
I never understood the feeling in my stomach / When witches and monsters came / On the TV. For years I thought / They made me afraid
I bought her a pair of gold earrings that writhe when she walks. / They bring the caramel curve of her neck.