Category: Poetry

I live in minefields, study dioramas

of disaster, pose in crime scenes. I pay

attention. Last night, I overheard a woman read more

Each word is a fly    foregrounding the gap of its silence.

I scan for microscales    something read more

Every Sentient Being
after Frannie Lindsay

The carcasses have been piling up
All fall—atrophied chipmunk splayed under our kitchen island, read more

SHAMAN IN THE LIBRARY

Naked except for a loin cloth,
ritual scars, and streaks of red clay
he attends the staff meeting.
Bowl haircut, back straight, face impassive. read more

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec Poses His Mother for a Portrait

Let the tea cup

hold your attention.

Do not dare to raise your chin. read more

Linguistic Exogamy

In this dream the house is silent. My mother closes
the piano. She opens her mouth and I add in
her words, like fear, and adoration, the terrible
translation of a hygienic room. Even then
it is different from what I want to hear,
nor have I felt it. I used to call her fascist because
she would not understand. I would let sunlight
expand quiet between us. The limitations of
specialized language have given us much grief. read more