The war isn’t over yet. If there ever was a war.
We fought our own way, with words not blood,
But silence brings the same death, and there is no further reason to reject
A common ending.
Tag Archives: poetry
Sisyphus’ Content
The prairie is vast, flax seed blooming from your toes to the horizon. Blue touching blue, a union. Incurable sweetness in your lungs. This would be a good death, you think. It’s peaceful. It’s pure.
But you move on.
The challenge of a hill and the pleasure of a valley – the arc between your shoulder blade and spine – marks a preferred route through the blazed trees. There’s pleasure in a climb. Your lungs sigh with exertion. Not all labor is toil, you say as your calves grow lean and strong and your back straightens towards the sun.
Urban Decay
There are more ghosts than people here. The past has pushed us out.
Gentrified by poltergeists, the city renames itself “Nostalgia You’ll Never Recapture.”
Skyscrapers like headstones. Car horns like dirges.
We spirit westward, far from here, in search of hills without cairns.
In search of homes unhaunted.
In search of spaces for life to begin.
Just Enough
He writes ten pages to arrive at a single punchline. Who needs that much setup?
Who has time?
We have never lost anything we truly needed.
We have never felt full eating only air.
Feeding Caprice
My hollow stomach wallops as though I’ve swallowed a bleating goat. It kicks and butts and bahs, rips my villi like mouthfuls of grass. I am its pasture, and this –
This is how I know I like him better than other men.
Cloudless Nights
Wish you’d followed me that night, out to the curb where the air was October crisp and changing. Needed to clear my head, but you were a fog I couldn’t drive out. So I rolled the windows down and let it seep in.
An Impression of Now
The first time a word’s impressed on my ear, it might leave a mark but never a mold. It takes a second listening for that sculpting to hold, but even then I’ll buckle my tongue before repeating the thing.
Constellations
My fingers move like needle points, spun between the poles of
Clavicle and calves. Invisible lines of magnetism,
Your freckles are my guides. By nights these constellations, traced,
Become my map and sky: Polaris, and the star charts — a universe laid bare.
Team Ghost Collection
You’ve joined my collection of ghosts. Continue reading
kitchen of an almost-lover
We hunger, knead the dough we want to eat: Continue reading
Overstayed
Where the wind blew pine needles across the roof. Scritch, scritch.
I didn’t know it would be this long.
I never would’ve let the dog out.
Never would’ve kissed you under the wolf moon. They say it’s cursed. Now we know.
Scritch. Continue reading
The Wordsy 
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