the bro ken road side sneak er goes no where fast

to be famous in poetry is no mean feat: just follow the right folks & post pithy comments while intermittently raging at all the motherfucking fascists ruining the world including that guy who cut in line at Starbucks & people who walk cats on […]

the streetlight flicks static hums against the night & the dog doesn’t sniff odd piles or wrappers for once & the kid in the stroller drops a bear & the mother’s ass crack says hello & the less I know about things I do […]

the last pecan roll lurks in the box waiting wanting longing for love oh my darling you are too sweet & it is too late for such seductions

advice every writer says this worked for me but they lie: you must listen for a hand open in silence & the buddha smiling & only then will you know

there’s a hollow in the grain— a road littered with signs & leaves & the sound of letting go that holds the shape of storms carved by words we didn’t say on barefoot kitchen tile & wrapped in curtains like the moon slipped behind […]

the telephone wires hum like violins, ghosts in the lines like your name on the wind when the dog barked at trucks where our words used to land & train whistles sliced through midnight’s last dark; the sky is a wound that refuses to […]