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waves
whether the wood grain could attach itself like ocean waves without a shore or reference is not of question.
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harbor
harbor a little rattle in the scaled lockedabsentlight, or plentiful–so much in solittle time, scamperits cloak, leaveits precipice keep it likea nightcapfor yournext lost shipcreeping towardsshores in anendless dark
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pulse
dull patter, a cruxbacklight, raisin-likebuds on a bloomingtree, its fruits alreadycoming into their own,rosemary peakingfrom its spentstalks like sweet dew,paint off of the porch,slats coming loose, afew I picked likesticks in the yard tostow away, in thegarage, the mandoor ajar, everymorning I openand view animpossible vistathe space betweenlike toe gaps, armspans, the pulsea chatter ofshapes…
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spring manual
boorish and clunky, abarred railing, a flush of hydrangeaspring green flower starterspeeking from a grave, returnthe sun to myth the bird’s songa manual for moving on
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a glance
a fence made of cloth and mesh/ a face leaving youth to birds/ yes the perennialslost fruit but the stems still yearn/a roof dusted in snow touchingearth with a gutter kinked enough to be human/ a walking stafffashioned as a pole or perch /lines parallel to breath to flutteredwings to kissing /death at a glance…
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oranges
a poem from my chapbook — published by the wonderful Bottlecap Press, available here: all of the light of all of our selves, all at once oranges I wonder what it sounds like behind glass how the voice can vibrate and shrink listen aswe drink the snow &our cells enmesh all the while peelingoranges at your feet
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unknowns
evergreen trees danceand wave belowthe ladyfinger-likebranches of the unknownsreaching so far into thewhite-blanket canopyvibrating as spindles you saw me staring outthe window andgrabbed your drillto add more screwsto anchor the pergolato keep it grounded as particulate dropletsalmost invisibleshifted to soft tangiblesnow and yes, my arms grow newunknowns, belowthe wrist a stonea brush strokeon the elbow…
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different variations of the same theme
if I squint my eyes, I can see a light snow on the morning of new years eve. if I close them, I see us in cars at night. you’re wearing a black carhartt jacket, cigarettes in the velcro pocket, driving a ten-year-old Ford pickup truck. I’m in the passenger seat, counting each city we…
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offerings
tumult in the way severed branches press against glass. the scratch greets your body, as it jolts and wanes in dreams. we hover in a kitchen, banishing the cracks in linoleum to the corners that escape light. we pour black coffee down our throats. you read Wilde as I read C. D. Wright. I see…
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“shadows” — all of the light of all of our selves, all at once
(published through Bottlecap Press 2024) I feel like I’m shouting into the void a lot, lately. it’s been years since I’ve posted here. nevertheless, I’m floored to share my (new and first!!) poetry chapbook with you guys. ya’ll were always so supportive when I wrote daily, raw and often weird posts, and I’ve truly and…