Poetry
Poem of the Week
I am a pornography of small promises, the chugging gin of the universe.
Poem of the Week
I roam the dirt with the law in my teeth, a widower in search of a widow.
Poem of the Week
I roll lactic bubbles under my face with rose quartz, fuck a pillow in sleep.
Poetry
I realized you were my fourth love, and the system was always doomed.
Poetry
A landscape values people at the level that it values other things.
iPoems
A boat-tailed grackle counts the passing cars from the traffic light.
Poetry
This box is full of wires, energy that moves in ways I can hardly fathom.
Poem of the Week
Unwall the summer in blue threading, gift of someone who loved me.
iPoems
May your wife remove her shirt and have an affair with a tornado.
Poetry
Her body is no longer the source of pleasure but constant pain.
Poetry
All her sisters have gone to bed, dreaming dreams not like the wakeful.
Poetry
Let those shadows sift the spirits of their children from the silt.
Poetry
The doctor said your life will never be the same before she said hello.
Poem of the Week
I let him record me doing it all. I wanted to watch me be a monster.
Poem of the Week
I reach in, blind hand finds what I’ve already seen, only one front foot.
Poetry
Whitman may just mean: it is pretty cold, but there’s always colder.
Poem of the Week
she was right—hurricane being the name of the feeling, the twist of it.
Poetry
I could throw one of these rocks at the moon and watch it fall.
Poem of the Week
and there I was five-foot-four and most way old enough to drive
Poem of the Week
The raven cocked its black eye, dipped its beak in the red pool.
Poem of the Week
We say America you are magnificent and we meant we are heartbroken.
iPoems
Everything white is a white spider. The spider spins regardless of color.
Narrative High School Writing Contest
The heart cannot remember what the heart does—the mirror is no longer a mirror.
In my father’s garden ivy claws at the pale-blue shed.
Poem of the Week
It was not me, but you who spoke first; the sheets began to unwind.
Poem of the Week
home is his hands, our bowls, so many gay fridge magnets.
Poetry
I will leave the pills in their bottles, I will leave the bottles by my bed.
Poem of the Week
I taste on my tongue a gunshot of synapses warm and light like butter
Poem of the Week
Someone says Jesus is bread. He is also suffering. He is like the Internet.
Poem of the Week
He says the word robbery and you don’t know if he’s asking or telling.
