Poetry

boondock saints

the poetry of your face when i look at it has dwindled and trailed off like you tend to when you don't know what to say. i have to field that reaction from you ...

107 degrees

i’m sitting in the driveway at 6:24 pm running my hands through black gravel and Arizona flower bits i’m sad i need comfort but my face feels like a...

Dan, the Man

Dan the Man keeps a polaroid in his desk drawer: himself at age 22, wearing jogging shorts, the really short kind from the 80s. His wife recently cut off all...

Grown Ocean

the problem with sunsets is they are infinitesimal and consecutive. and our bodies live in cars forever speeding to catch them. how ridiculous, to fear there wi...

Dianne

Evenings find her lying flat, a slab of stone, smooth and chiseled, imperfect in the eyes she imagines fit snug in his sockets. When, in fact, he sees radi...

Please Pay Attention

Because I had to listen to the water boiling so it wouldn’t spill over, I forgot to use the handguard of my mandolin, lost to the rhythm of peeling chayote–epid...