Poems, etc.

the thrill of a thousand doves  all flying up at once. your hands around my throat. is this sin or singularity: the red of blood on a white, white wing. your rage,  licked away, clean as a dinner  plate so when i look down i see half bruise, half reflection. i miss you. i dread you. sometimes i am you,  it seems, only i’ve never been  able to land.

eating wild onions and the potatoes  you stole – it’s midnight in the kitchen, the rest of the world a wheeling  star. some memories have no  marrow but this one? this one i want to crack between my teeth, consume its darkness before its darkness consumes me. everything those days was like an  erotic disease, a cloying rottenness i had no desire to wash from my skin. no wound is beautiful but oh, you could have convinced me otherwise. my heart gaping,  not quite bleeding, irr

i retreat into myself like a stone  descending in water. i dream like fish dream: wives tales of hooks and string piercing one eye and...

No matter how well I think I’m doing, no matter how soft the evening, my heart blooms like a cactus in my chest. I think about the night...

I watch The Whale  while giving my boyfriend a massage. Earlier today I used a shovel to scrape a dead mouse out of the trashcan. I live...

When a star dies all of its life force retreats to the center, the heart. A white dwarf, they call it. Dull but lively, dying with all...

I wrote a poem that I've since forgotten — about golden nightingales, about tiny dogs in tiny caskets. One day, when I find the words...

We live in a low green pasture. The neighbors' children are in and out of the house. Their laughter is like two warm palms of sunlight...

i feel sorrow coming towards me like a slow slamming door lord, let me sleep through these raging eyeless storms i forgot how to dream...

you are the last arrow in my quiver, the little flame neatly notched in my bow the lake in my mind's gone quiet the moon and the swans...