Poems, etc.

dreams as brittle as glass. or maybe it’s me: thin and fragile,  leaning hard into my memory’s windowpane. you and i  are out by the pool, counting stars. my heart’s a chlorine-soaked pearl. you turn to whisper in my ear but i can’t hear thing from where i am. where you are.  you look so old, so much older than you should be. your lips on my ear tickle like tall grass; fog snaking between pool  chairs. fog of my breath distorting our already far away bodies.

A boy, struck by his reflection In the eyes of a bleeding Dog, leans over his handlebars to Watch the poor thing die. In every Mirror, not just this one, he  Sees his father. And, canine-like In his longing he comes to The study door with scraps of Boyhood, bile, his impossible adolescent loneliness; nothing a Father would care for. Tonight, just Like every night, he will wait And read the books left out on The desk. Search for a poem or A line that tells him what to make Of

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...