Category: Poetry

The Turquoise-Haired Fairy lied: She told Pinocchio he could be a real boy If only he stopped lying, As if boyhood was based on truth. I learned as a boy that Boyhood was based on lies, And lies upon those lies, With the biggest lie of all being That I could ever be a real…

the sea is my safety it is my flesh it surrounds me it becomes me and i become it i am made of the sea it courses through my veins and reminds me of the time before and informs me of the time to come and lets me be in the now alone embraced surrounded…

push your fingers into the barrier dig deep until your hands have gone in up to the wrists feel your hands choking by the thickness of the barrier push until you can’t push and then push some more up to the elbows now and asked yourself is this a barrier is this a wall or…

let’s begin by floating the wind in our hair the sun bright above us we are as light as a feather but we are not flying we are floating let’s begin by watching the world moving pulsating vibrating contorting moving breathing choking undulating moving rushing rewinding recoiling so far out of reach that it’s a…

It was intermission, so I got up to stretch. I walked into the lobby, considered the popcorn line, decided instead to stand in the lobby and look out into the parking lot for just a few moments. Before I knew it, the lights had flashed, and it was time to go back in. — Clio…

in the haze of the gaslight you crafted masks for me to wear and told me when to wear them you warned me to never take them off, to always hide myself, because the world is full of monsters there was one for when i was sad: an ugly face full of rage and violence…

the still of the night was split by the sound of a gun spilling its violence out into the darkness the lightning and thunder followed by a rainstorm of blood on the sidewalk was it a traffic stop gone wrong? was it revenge for a broken heart? was it the demarcation of territorial lines? was…

i remember the glass(people) who shimmered in the light their shattered shards coalesced under the hot sun i lost touch with the glass(people) and let their memory fade but they lingered and they linger and they will linger they were lost among the static a memory just around the corner of my consciousness waiting for…

When I was young and learning how to write, I was taught that poems had rhythms tight. The words, the lines, the rules — they served as walls And that without these strictures all would fall. The rules, they said, were there to form a spine — The art was how the writer, so confined,…

somewhere in between the evening and the dawn as the rain clouds settled in and the moon disappeared i saw your shadow i whispered your name i felt your presence for a moment everything was serene everything had stopped all my fears were quieted in that liminal haze somewhere in between the evening and the…