I want to pour this night down my throat, then I want my breath to bruise the sky.
Write a fable write fables to the order of things, to broken commitments to bullshit owned & operated by yourself to her kissed hands, to eyes shut… Read more “A Note to Future Writers”
She wore that dress, wore it well. It warmed her breasts, ribs, and shoulder blades, held her soft. She bunched it up to her small nose, while… Read more “Polka Dots”
I love her like a smoldering tree burning slowly, still smoking drunk on imported beers from Mexico I love her like the stubborn cold chills my… Read more “Tecate”
The dress she wore, wore her well: warm to breasts, ribs, and shoulders, held soft, bunched up to her small nose. The dark didn’t touch us, not… Read more “I Woke Up With Blood on My Jeans”
You gave me your country of lightly-dusted skin, of pink parts, of back roads, of underpass, of Decembers, chilled, put outside the toasty coats keeping us warm… Read more “Diaspora”
Adjacent to the cemetery, where blackberry blood runs down my fingers, bushes are bred in perfect rows. You asked me to sit next to you, so… Read more “The Picking Ground”