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.
Balancing; Another Heatwave; Stake Out; In the Glitter Pattern
Dirt is Soil; Friend Request; Musician at the Reunion; Rendezvous; The End of Summer
You don’t even have a lawn,
yet you present yourself, a violin in one
hand, bow in the other, head back in
song, the only who of us who’s free.
Dreams of Jack Burney; The Dream; We Are Still Here; Prairie Wind; She Waits
Kiss those hands Your prose stained hands
We breastfeed and suckle
Although I’m No Geologist; Blackout Lust; Crossing a Bridge; Fugitive; I Feel a Tremendous Peace
Here I am
stuck forever, baby,
in your teary basalt eyes.
I Can’t Remember the Kind Nuns, First Grade, Fourth Grade, Eighth Grade, Age 38
One day I ran away
from school, down a long
hall of doors closed.
Sun shining, first bridge was
walking distance, no plan after.
anomalies in the nuclear degree;
I rest my forehead against vibrating window glass.
It was hard to look past the glare of city lights or
the fog of warm breath
but life bleeds through its filters and forced me to watch.