Category: Poetry

Occupation of a Life

He put his hands in the pocket of his brown leather jacket, looking for a piece of paper. All he found was a small receipt he had got from the stationary store in exchange for a red pen, and he … Read More

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Lemonade // Drain

“Neither you nor your soul is waiting for me at   the end of this,” — Nick Flynn, “Cathedral of Salt”   All I ever wanted was a kitchen and you standing in the tile-white light. Me, on the floor, … Read More

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Lac de Sainte-Croix

Spontaneity escapes me, I swim in fear of unlikely tsunamis, or phantasmic beasts.   I swim with a raincoat on, protecting my words from the world.   My ears tinged with the muffled sounds of laughter.   My body quaking … Read More

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SEPARATION RITUALS

We are in the magic-room, as she is calling it. I write that down.   She is cute and funny, even now. But of course she is.   She calls it a sanctuary.  I write that down too.   My … Read More

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River, river, I’m broken/sinking down

It’s 4 in the morning and you’re pulling at my bedsheets again. I’d like to think I’m the boulder willing river water into a million little Vs, the shapes of teeth on parted lip, buzzing. In my memory, you appear … Read More

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Spring March 24

I   Now daffodils bloom in watercolor spirit Skies of tender pastel blend into the lingering warmth of caramel breaths in the air. A girl sighs in the distance, going somewhere, smiling occasionally, scowling sometimes at the cherry blossoms or … Read More

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wearing weighted blankets

first semester, i read and wrote and p-setted, claimed dual residency in forbes and ncw so i could eat until my mouth and stomach begged “no more,” got home everyday to lovely humans who never fail to make me laugh … Read More

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Au

Last night I ingested my mother’s gold in hopes it would bring value to every worthless part of my body   I brought her bangles to my teeth and bit them so hard I drew blood holding them under my tongue … Read More

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Prufrock’s Letters

Mente mia, che presaga de’ tuoi damni, Al tempo lieto già pensosa e trista, Sí ‘ntentamente ne l’amata vista Requie cercavi de’ futuri afanni   1. Let us go now, til it be that all you and I can see … Read More

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A dream of mending

Our skies sink further into dust and while we wait for cloud-made seams, the earth tears limb from limb, and trusts that we will mend her — so it seems.   As fires rage through forests deep, we find ourselves … Read More

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After the Beast Within

In the Earth, Cicadaboy Has an Out-of-Body-Experience Sweat on slate like spilt brain ejaculate, like old sun god’s been plugging holes with lead again, old dog dying of heat stroke again, it’s Thursday, and a series of freak thunderstorms   … Read More

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The scourge of the decaf fiend: thou shalt be unproductive

“I must confess / I have been sitting at this corner table for two whole hours / writing my Senior Thesis™ / but I was just pretending…”

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