Take Root

The field lies like a still lake, an opaque film of silver or green—water or soil, apathy or memory—obscuring the mayhem underneath A tenebrous home once floated here. Inside: chrysalis, pupa, larvae, whatever I left those costumes in closets to mold over years ago. But, then again, my home was never on the ground.    …


Future Flower

a poem about the uncertainty of our future


what if we flip this crimson doubt release each expectation lark to skies refilled from looming drought would we still form a question mark beneath astonished flannel sheets our viscous whispers drench the dark forgotten hist'ry made complete would we still form a question mark If I'm omega hanging, high, above the finite point you …


Can I be your quicksilver—that slick Forever, that satiny poison you long to have near but are too afraid to taste? (Even the shadows under your feet radiate) And may the line you walk between the steel pillars of this city, the threads you lay on gum-speckled sidewalks, down regretful subway tracks, and over the rocking …

The Seventh Wife of Bluebeard

I am unlocked. I paint the 'closet' red so there will be no doubt, braid six wreaths weekly—one for each wife, each murder. Still, his specter looms in the wallpaper, the coatstand. Six candles flicker in the darkening room; I whisper to them nightly, thank you, thank you.