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Three Poems

A goddess was offended; her altar required my virgin blood.

Three Poems

But too much rain can translate anything to unspeakable.

Three Poems

With a hammer well aimed, try to destroy the whole with a single blow.

Three Poems

A memory in the drip, drip, drip of the kitchen sink that won’t stop.

Three Poems

If life was exchanged, who is to say it flowed one way?

Three Poems

All the bears in the zoo look pathetic. Their eyes glazed, bodies lethargic.

Three Poems

A sociopathic streak on my father’s side I try to put to good use.

Three Prayers

But we do despise beauty. We connect it with softness and immortality.

Time Change

Here: geeky cyber-warriors crunch cheese Cheetos over keyboards.

Tithing

My mother’s house was packed, painted, put up for sale—sold.

To Clara Rilke, Villa Discopoli, Capri

The leaves of the olives were made entirely of night, as if cut out of skies.

To God Himself in the Passing Hours

I bow to the life being lived in this finch on my terrace this morning.

To Hold a Kingdom

Let father be a man walking to the river, ready to bargain with water.

To Save a Butterfly

Yes, Eylon thought, he lied to Cath. Lied about his day, about the risks.

To This God I Will Say

He has his hands on Nii’s throat, and this time I do not stop them.

Transcendentalism I

Let me remember there’s a door inside each flower.

Tunnels and Walls and Other Ways of Getting There

He bound me to blind obedience, for which I’d shown a propensity.

Türkenmarkt

The emblazoned vessel performed my false and vulgar life—I knelt to it.

TWA Flight 800

“The doors are closed,” she said, and we would not be flying to Paris.

Twenty-One People between My Legs (and Counting)

Who needs driftwood when I can bury myself in your loamy soil.

Two Poems

Just because we have birds inside us, we don’t have to be cages.

Two Poems

These natives have the smiles we haven’t seen since we were children.

Two Poems

God was surrounding the chair, leaves flourishing from a sickly tree.

Two Poems

One day, we will all turn into choir girls—all soft and hollow inside.

Two Poems

insomniacs gesturing in a cave of neon light the narrative of their lives

Two Poems

The air has grown inside me. It’s become a sanctuary.

Two Poems

My “lonelymaking.” Also known as my horrible secret, continent-wide.

Two Poems

I slept but never dreamed there. Nor did I feel the need to court a god.

Two Poems

The angel lay in his body effervescent as a flake of alabaster.

Übermensch

I repeated the name thoughtfully, then said no, I didn’t think I knew her.