Night sneaks in like a lover's whisper: breathless, untrue, close.
You wait at an unlatched window, conjure doors to close.
I can live with lies—they're how we learn to love ourselves.
When you've broken a glass, I know. Keep a broom close.
Recall an unpinned night when stars refused to move?
The only way to find us was … Continue Reading ››
Only one year I planted pumpkins—
carriage or shell for keeping very well—
dragged them to the front yard,
left them to grow old and soften
while I wanted happily ever
in the country called leisure,
and I don’t like to travel—but remember
those days after the dash for the … Continue Reading ››
My father’s lungs are full
of fungus, great balls of fungus
fibers. Blood clots in the sinuses.
The doctors go in with knives up, masks:
Tear them out by the roots,
or the carve away at him piece by piece.
He calls to say I still can’t breath—
coughs up so much blood
the plywood walls collapse,
the dividers, … Continue Reading ››