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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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lux
stalled stuck park in luxwouldn’t shift, I gave into the voidflashed lights and laughedshut off wrapped skin in rainis it used up? has it run dry?forward always up I try, I’m tryingbut stasis is a ring, once trappedyou sink, you at the base atthe center you at the endsI fray, I gleam
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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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hearth
the shadows play houseand vibrate in rasps as a scatter of clunks and plastic rustle, still I taste the crisp-apple air from strange rain on my tongue, as paper-patio lights whistle through water like a lens, a hearth, a ruse– I can see it now the fire in your heartgrowing legs
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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…