poetry

Carbon Pressure

The thing you hate is hidden in the grass. Is groaning. Wants a boy to rub the urge be urge to suck it first then swallow. Every inch. Is snake in a box drum, ...

3 poems

night walk   layla and her kids sleep on a bridge that frowns over the freeway   wrapped in blankets on a yellow slab of foam, the...

Lone Star

a truck bed raised eighteen inches. a mini-Tahoma summit to the passenger seat. swallow my salted goodbyes. flashes of a blue merle’s howl echo out of the drive...