Category: Poetry

I remember myself in parts. November

morning without snow. Dusty footprints,

no brakes. I remember nothing.

If Your Family Owned a Mausoleum, then This Poem Would Make More Sense   Your sisters have found corpses: beautiful one in the bath, the

Animul/Flame   Animul owned the sun that beat the back of the gavel-nosed deer. Around us, sweetbread mountains with their anatomical stone stone stone. I

My mother said, my hair was like a rat’s nest, a rat’s nest plucked by a black capped chickadee for another nest or the start

Body Composition   You wanted me to make you art, capture the way you breathe stars from the sky, disappear into the folds of my

Primitive   Now you want to make her faceless fling the greedy spit of acid splatter domination through iris and cornea gouge socket and cartilage