On one of our nightly walks
of less and less talk,
gunshots punctuate the air,
puncturing our silence.
I hold my palms over your ears
when an ambulance passes us,
its siren shrieking into our void,
lights turning us red
like there’s any lust left.
(originally published in The Blotter Magazine, Summer 2017)
(originally published in After the Pause, Fall 2017)
It’s 8 P.M. and lights hang like eggs
on a string beneath the moon
from the second-floor window
to the wooden fence.
The air conditioner threatens
the chattering insects
with its drone suckling noise
from fading light.
A car door slams. The almost-distant
hum of traffic. Sirens occasionally
dot red the air, causing the dogs
in the neighborhood to howl.
What does anyone mean
when they say animal?
Outside I am one
with the wild.
Beyond vine-green, breathing
fence I hear a basketball
bounced, tossed, missed,
Whomever is playing must be lost
in thought, making calculations
of which he is unaware,
surviving in one way he knows.
(originally published in CultureCult Magazine, 2017)
I’ve written the last
I can about you.
No more spirits in this blue-and-gray
jacket with the familiar coffee stain.
Out of poetry and time to spare.
Like December’s brisk spit of snow.
The lack of wonderment.
(originally published in Corvus Review, Fall 2016)
You look around the room
and rate singles from one to ten
in terms of melancholy
but don’t know
how to rate yourself–
Pacific waves flow through
you almost drown
in the sea of your thoughts–
the scisms between pen and mirror,
heart and mind, these are thieves
who will lie to you ‘til the Greyhound
leaves for Cincinnati at 11:30.
Until then we watch superheroes do bad
stand-up comedy in the conference room
at the new Mikey’s, eating mushroom pizza
with too-hot sauce. Bass pounds from the stage
so loudly we walk to 16-Bit next door
to drink water and pretend we are drunk,
our mouths rocketships exploring the universe
of each other– the rotation of stars
confused with physics. In the end all you want
is chocolate cake. Your blue eyes curve away
in that soaring flyball-to-left way. The way
you sway me back to simpler times
when buying CDs was a holy act
of personal preference
and I stayed sealed on a shelf in plastic,
waiting to give the world my music.
(originally published in Zingara Poetry Picks, Summer 2017)
Gates clot with distance: other thickened loves not directly related
to active devices are increasingly important for post-fabricated
hearts to facilitate not only process control, circuits, electric life,
but also accuracy of simulations critically dependent on parasites–
your fundamental process parameter.
A thinner gate enables smaller, faster transistors to critically affect
hearts: techniques were developed to provide accurate values.
X-ray photoelectron spectroscopy: you materialize as light
witches on. Auger electron spectroscopy: hold the sun in its light.
Secondary ion mass spectrometry. Transmission electron microscopy.
And the meaning lost in poetry.
And you I lose in visible light.
(originally published in The Icarus Anthology, Summer 2017)
You are not
sad. It is the mirror
who is sad,
transparent and flat
holding first your eyes,
then the bathroom’s.
The way black mold
into ceiling, where
neither of you
will do anything
(originally published in Typehouse Literary Magazine, Summer 2017)
rain I am trying to provide
like you the red cardinals
pecking at ground forever
holes into deepness a guitar
wailing thunderstorm solo
concert of flashing lights to
burn the world’s an AA chair
& I’m mumbling into the air
I wish was your ear shawled
with your black hair & warmth
my teeth nibbling the edge
until it gives
(originally published in Home Planet News Online, 2017)
you forgot my name white
every transparent slide
a memory or blankets
of sweat-covered voices
the fan’s whir &
whisper was always you
to say it
(originally published in This Zine Will Change Your Life, Winter 2018)
We waddled over grates along train tracks
on a bridge above the river until a trembling
warned of what would come: soon, one of us
will leave the other. Running to safety in flip-
flops, it would not matter how it felt when
we held each other after stumbling off rail into
field because you said you finally found a thing
I’m scared of: the in-between of tracks. Heart
beating odds with brain. As the train passed,
horns blaring, you spoke something I could not
hear when we hugged as each car blurred forward
until we became a quiver, a silence, a kiss of
faded smoke dragging steel beyond the hills.
(originally published in Four Ties Lit Review, Fall 2017)