shovel
After long enough, I start to throb. I start to retrace steps, ask questions. If the snow came down all in a rush and buried us here then I’d know I’d had enough… Continue reading
After long enough, I start to throb. I start to retrace steps, ask questions. If the snow came down all in a rush and buried us here then I’d know I’d had enough… Continue reading
When I look at your face in hastily taken or painstaking pictures, the brick and mortar world I have built for myself unhinges. I suddenly, violently, miss mornings with your coffee and conversation. … Continue reading
you are something warm and moving, something that I find with my other senses, something I can’t see but that still presses against me, against my foot, against my arm and elsewhere- sensory… Continue reading
You have calloused fingers and you chop down trees. You are ten feet tall, you’re beautiful.
My head is like a chemical fire. Like some ugly, runaway hot air balloon, bright red against the sky. Nothing is better than poetry and tea. Maybe antibiotics.
I waited for a minute instead of running right out; like bodies we cooked in the desert, under the sand in an iron pot, hot with the sun, I let all the good… Continue reading
I thought I did enough, laying at your feet. I forget how the rain felt. I dry up and dry out and get old.
There is a way that you love me. It’s quiet and furious. I tug with my teeth at your thick dense forest; uncover nothing. I wanted to draw the cool sweet water from… Continue reading
We ate purple, charred hearts, the eyes of cows (we scooped them out with our fingers, I swallowed mine whole), we stayed up until dawn. Undone, raw, sliced and foreign from everything I… Continue reading
You came to me, then, as a ghost of something that might be if I followed a certain path. You were screams in the night. When I saw you, a backwards reflection, a… Continue reading