Dis quiet


This hunger, see, this unquiet curiosity, this morbid fascination with restlessness, forgetfulness, disjointedness. You see it between the words, the bridges across the vowels, the howls of discontent. You’re primed, you’re pumped until something comes up that matters less; so confess, you’re not interested in the news cycle, you hike those miles in broken boots, and why? Your choice to fall asleep to your own voice, without a hint of wonder, well brother, don’t knuckle under, carry that weight, you brought it on yourself.


Round bellied winds

round bellied winds.jpg

Voluptuous, quickening, taunting, a voice a thousand days old and calling, the full depth of my skin, your haunting begins, your cold gutting hands leave me wanting.



I heard the color of your voice,

your back was turned, a

silhouette framed in the middle

of everything. I watched the

sun trickle down your shoulders and the burgundy

shadows pool around your

legs and I wondered if any essence could

be so pure as that moment of you.


falling down

Would you trace the scars on my hand

for a resolution

a declaration that might mean something.

Would you watch the day

as it bleeds away and bathe in the constellations.

Would you listen to the sins

of the moon as they pour onto my face

and trace the scars on my hand:

my absolution.

Miss Susan

Miss Susan

Will you stay with me, Miss Susan
help me forget the cold ahead,
enshroud me in your saffron arms,
relieve me of this malcontent.
Will you stay with me, Miss Susan
comfort me, but is there still time?
Keep your glowings burning, dear
’til the end of your days decide.



All our warm and complicated flesh,

meager, eager, fevered for rest,

the sweetness, then nakedness burnished,

idly worshiped, and now

the mornings, steeped with stinging dew, but

it is through,

and we have done well.