Category: Poetry

He grew up isolated by his optimism, his openhearted determination to promote goodwill, waxing tall, with smooth green limbs that only looked soft, fleshy.

I remember;

early on in college

and discovering charles

bukowski – I worked

after class

in this office by the river

selling windows,

and sometimes

I'd show up early

and sit in a bookshop opposite,

drinking coffee from a paper cup

reading Factotum

and Dog from Hell – eventually

I even bought a copy.

Visiobibliophobia: Fear of Social Media

And if you fade, fade as slowly

as a deeply bruised shoulder.

Black and purple come first

then livid blue then a lash of yellow.

There is no tale-teller, no bagpipe to thread these words in rhythms: sounds, seizures, thoughts that linger and bloat a mind.

You say you want to know, that a god should put all their stuff behind those eyes, all your heaven, a whole sun —plasmatic and self-consuming— attached in one weird head.