look in the mirror
that’s the ghost of you
a fraction of a second ago
I look into my lover’s eyes
and she seems alive though
I know we’re wilting
together when we hold
hands the action is
a time traveler
our atoms providing
the illusion of touch
but what of the heart
does the beating keep
us breathing or the
faith that we might be
my head rests
on your chest
echoes of eternity
I am both part of
(originally published in Hamline Lit Link, 2018)
Some birds zigzag
below shrapnel clouds
and others, perched
on limbs, chatter
in this chill
because the leaves
in your yard
are a different shade
than your neighbor’s,
but each tree
casts its own
ballot into earth
for the season
all the dead
beneath your boots
along the way
to the church
with the cookies
you pass big,
with American flags
on porch steps
and city workers
who have been
fixing power lines,
for so many months,
and so many months
(originally published in The Rising Phoenix Review, Fall 2017)
The chairs we sit in are steel
horses, sad and dead. What you said
at the gallery in the warehouse was
to you, I have only given death and cookies.
Or corpses confused with candy.
Your cheeks puff, withdraw.
You’re silver in ceramic.
If I were a romantic I’d say
you belong in the painting.
Longing, always. But I am
a romantic. When we strolled
the botanical gardens we found longing
in the plants deemed poisonous.
How close I get to each sweet thing.
How close each is to death.
(originally published in Pif Magazine, Winter 2018)
I add more
I add more
(originally published in Misty Mountain Review, 2017)
Fill the cracks so the ants can’t infest.
This is the poison applied for feeding:
urine-yellow icky glue sealing lips
to take home to another body. Sometimes
words stick where I open my mouth–
the crevice between us not letting you in.
I, too, have brought small gifts back
underground thinking them an olive
branch. Each attempt kills one way
or another. Malignant misinterpretations.
I return with this pellet of words.
This killing I never meant to witness.
(originally published in Abstract Magazine, Fall 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)
my mother logs in
watches lives unfold and bend
others offer words of glass
like there used to be something there
something that refreshed and renewed
(originally published in The Stray Branch, Spring 2018)
the muffled songs
made me wonder
who played violin
on the other side
who cradled the bowstring
whose long haunting moans
whispered my name
in its dried throat
beyond the wooden wall
who itself whispered
its own ghosts
its dead fingerprints
to live again
(originally published in The Bond Street Review, Summer 2017)
has no teeth
in his exit.
along the edges
of the street.
A tomato grows
in your garden
of the fertile.
Dust and ice
compose the rings
What else is there?
Cries long lost
in the stars.
(originally published in Nixes Mate Review, Summer 2017)
we’re summoning the dead by candlelight out of a Hasbro board
and there are so many ghosts in my head haunting every home
I find myself in so much history in every intimate space of belonging
but the cat doesn’t have to meow after we ask a spirit to reveal itself to make
us scared there’s a bat hanging on your door and we fall asleep holding hands
I never know what to make of you, how to call something beautiful
and I don’t think to ask the Ouija board that instead asking stupid questions like
will we ever grow tall enough to dunk a basketball and will we pass history class
instead of saying things like reveal yourself and show me who you really are
but maybe we were never really searching for spirits to begin with maybe
we just want any warm body to haunt our beds you don’t even have to say anything
to let me know we give thanks to all the ghosts that haunt us
(originally published in Here Comes Everyone, Spring 2017)