Category: Poetry

All the sap dripped from him.

Heirs licked the sweetness.

If dreams left bones I would sift them gently from the sheets. A rib of moonlight.

Much as I long for the remembered real I dwell more now on memories that never were.

Swan Song

to tears, I am tragically bored the spines creased, the birds alone in their forests whistle sweet little songs to warn the others: this is my spot, my tree, my world you’d better stay away.

the day before they came back, shrouded in an untouchable truancy like martyrs suddenly sitting up on the battlefield somebody said the word lesbian: that was a word we all knew but had never thought to say, before. “let’s talk about that,” the new teacher said. let’s not, i thought. now I sit next to them in my dreams,

under the shaft of light, glowing like it used to.

We walk. Last light on the grass where graves should be. Rain will not follow us.