She breathes honeybees and silver droplets with ear to splintered wood, swinging in September’s eye, some go off to listen, some to float without knowing why. She kneels among weeds and waits for lilies to arise.


I’ve almost forgotten how the crisp autumn air felt when you pushed your fingers in my hair, the flat yellow eye of the sun glaring through the windshield, the musky scent of your perfectly pressed trousers, the high shine on your black shoes. I’ve almost forgotten the rhythmic squeak of rusty springs at the shifting … More Details

Two Poems on Metazen

I’m very happy to say I have two poems up on Metazen today. Metazen publishes new poetry or a story every day and is one of my favorite lit zines. Big thanks to them and to editor Christopher Allen.

Through the Holes

I caught you in the air like a lightning bug You glowed between my hands, my feet left the ground Our effervescence could not be harnessed, could not be saved in a glass jar with a lid We escaped through the holes and became swallowed in the night

Two Conversations

That school is ugly, I don’t want to go there It’s brazen and bizarre and all kinds of crazy But sisters get shot dead at ten o’clock on a Saturday morning while watching kids play on the stoop. Sanity is fucked all over

Morning Meditation

Birds flutter in the fountain taking their morning shower, the broken finial cascading a quicksilver waterfall The storm-stripped pear tree is putting out new growth, flower buds, as though it were April instead of September Cicadas are singing a dirge for summer while autumn shines like a beacon and I sigh my relief

Too Far Gone

His eyes were black like something burnt in the bottom of a skillet. Her hair was red and she wore it up, errant tendrils stuck to the back of her neck like clotted blood On a moonless  night they went riding, the big BSA thrumming between their thighs, the sameness of a small southern town burning at their backs, … More Too Far Gone

New Eyes

  In hurricane mode your life becomes an altered reality in which time has no meaning or substance. You’re stuck in a no-man’s land of howling winds, horizontal rain torrents and the pops and creaks of a storm-stressed house. The world outside the storm zone turns on but you’re inside a cocoon of stomach churning … More New Eyes

Hard Things

31 years cracked today in the early morning stillness, beads of sweat along my lip – recriminations and regret – bad luck needs no mirrors or ladders, anything will do.