Letter to Larry from a Motel 6 Parking Lot Off Route 212 Outside Clackamas, sparrows flutter against clouds promising rain and I remember 1982 and you and Janine and empty gin bottles from Walgreen’s and I wanted to write to say I miss you […]

hunger the moon is an open-faced sandwich waiting to be dunked in au jus do it take a bite if you dare if you can find a large enough cup & tell us how it tastes my moon melted like beeswax like lip balm […]

sparse my mute heart consider how the damp sun bends over wet grass on grey days & know in dark months swallows too long for open skies to throw their throats into joyous song

not a eulogy but still what was it like, my father’s stroke, the sudden seize, fumbled & dropped keys & cops & flashlights & neighbors & behind the dumpster my father clutching his head & then the hospital & the nurses, the home & […]

spiral it’s not the end but only an exit so try not to get dizzy on your way out

it all comes down to this at one point you stop trying to impress yourself & just exist one breath after one breath after one breath after another & in the space between each you watch the crystals form & wonder what thin line […]

oh the horror think of the dryer swallowing socks: maybe the hunger will soon be sated; maybe their lint now floats across lawns unseen, maybe the socks are better off wherever they go, nothing holding them back from doing what must be done in […]