Poetry
Poem of the Week
I wanted to ask what her secret was but I was too busy knitting socks.
Poetry
The dead and alive who we will never see again but in dream or memory.
Poem of the Week
Hands that have waved farewell, sooner or later I will see them again.
Poem of the Week
Will you bless us, who are so in need of blessing? The world tires.
Poem of the Week
The mirror will flow and the heart will set like glass in the frame of his bones.
Poetry
Pinned to the wall, it looks uncannily its own language, trick of the camera.
Poetry
I can already feel the stone’s resistance as I work the first pass.
Poem of the Week
I’ve sinned. Cannot be saved. He was a child. Surely he went to heaven.
Poetry
With no words to speak about our love, we’re each one more alone.
Classics
Lying in wait, set to pounce on the page, are letters up to no good.
Poetry
It’s all that I have left of “the old country,” as my mother calls it.
Poem of the Week
When she passes you, her name is a bright blue phrase on your tongue.
Poetry
Below, the kiss silently maneuvers our bodies closer to the rose bed.
Poetry
My mother’s city and I were both named after an assassinated king.
Poetry
Thus is the way of leaves the secret ones that no one sees, not even me
Poetry
We wanna play Nintendo till it’s dark out and can’t, the grid’s down.
Poetry
They fed her honey, cream, bits of lime, that meaty pulp ripped from rind.
Poem of the Week
We entertain them. We kiss and spit and strike. We’re always changing.
Poetry
If I also could be lifted into the sky,
I’d wish to be blown apart.
Poetry
Outside the tinted windows, the deep jungle falls away into valley.
Poetry
Sometimes a you is a lover, but he is not my lover. He is looking at me.
Poetry
The face of love is a poem I am writing in an air-conditioned room.
Poem of the Week
He whispers words that sound as miraculous as the skinned fish of the clouds
my father writhed like pentecostal snakes while he drove drunk
Poetry
The story is easy to read, scratched deep into the stone by his rage.
iPoems
To fulminate, to go on a tear, because what’s wanted is forbidden.
Poetry
This storm scares me. A foreign climate occupies the land.
Poem of the Week
A man sits in the Institute of National Memory examining files.
Poem of the Week
I ask if you are all right until you can be nothing but not all right, not okay.
Poetry
I can’t hold a face held before dawn & not see behind the eyes bullets.
