She was throttled and hung when hope died for the second time. No one stayed around for her resurrection, no one watched her catch a crow mid flight, stick two fingers down its throat and pop her eyeball out of its broken beak. Last I heard she moved into an alley off Capitol Street. She […]Read more "The Patron Saint of Unaccountable Muses"
I don’t know what to do with these poems; I don’t know if I will ever work on them again so they get to live here. Written in 2010. Necropolis Streetcar If she were alive her name would be Aureate Lion, Sun-Beast-Rampaging- Down-Latitudinal-Lines. On this Saint’s Day she shines gold, windows open and flaunting; she […]Read more "3 Rough Drafts from the Archives"
When the sun peers into the sea It doesn’t see itself at first But when the reflection is clear The sun is riding on the waves. (So I wrote that in 5th grade and I’m still kinda proud of it even though reflections need light or whatever and scientifically it doesn’t make any sense BUT […]Read more "The first serious poem I ever wrote"
Stretched in the sunlight crowning Calypso’s shore the big cat dozed, small blue crabs drown in a capsized silver urn, cream filled and slopping beside him. Why long for plump tuna steak and cheesecake crumbs when Apollo scratches behind your ears and no storm clouds threaten tender olive saplings with shaking? That rural, stone hearth […]Read more "Ulysses the Cat"
1. The city went dark, bruised. First pale green at the edges then purple with spots of red where blood burst from the capillary confine and then darker, the black of abused flesh. Flesh left alive to suffer more. 2. We danced in the dust under bare boughs, between the bony cypress knees. 3. Fear […]Read more "Things Tourists Love"
Mothers who love their children take them along.—Maxine Hong Kingston, Woman Warrior When my mother goes away she visits men in cages; she has always known the words: revolutionary, dissident, are synonymous depending on who locks the gate. When my mother goes away she takes me with her sometimes and we walk along the causeway, […]Read more "She Goes Away"
She always laughed when we caught fire. She killed a baby bird with a sprig of holly and a cement block. She was my best friend. He was my first love. He was afraid of the things I wasn’t. He threatened to kill my rat. She hated me but forgot who I was. She asked […]Read more "Childhood’s Index"