Armageddon

poetry
  Nic says each mind is its own world, so technically one could say the world ends every time a living being dies. I say I’m too hungry to think…

Late-Stage Capitalism

poetry
  On Sundays I pill up all the reasons I’d be a bad partner in separate slots for each day of the week. Still punk. If I don’t kill me,…

As we aged we ceased to have an age.

poetry
  —Annie Ernaux, The Years I own a cabinet’s worth of plates but no seat at the table. In the kitchen I am as much an appliance as a refrigerator,…

Soteriology

poetry
  Once, Gary was wakened by the squawk caw and alarm of a crow in the oak across the street on trash day sleek black coat ribboned with light. He…

Yonder Past Old Sorrow Road

poetry
  The fog rolled in early the night of the full Buck moon and I missed it. “Good luck finding the moon tonight,” a woman says whom I’ve just met.…

Wild Pinks

poetry
  a palette of blushes, fragments of womanhood after Sei Shōnagon It depends on the man, it depends on the season what shade of pink you want against your skin:…

July

poetry
  The kitchen fills with unusable things, the mouth never forgives the tongue, the nosebleed comes on fast, fat red sprays hitting the counter like a bad fireworks finale, candy-colored…

Muscle, Diminutive of Mouse

poetry
  I have lost a father in the fields, or maybe forest. No telling where he’ll be. My job is to find him before my mother is screaming. I can…

In the fields, or maybe forest,

poetry
  paw or hoof prints disappear as soon as I find them, mud or soft ground to hard or stone suddenly or a change in pace I can’t anticipate or…

All the Words for Light

poetry
I call them lightning bugs. He calls them fireflies. Our daughter is four and has not yet decided. She tries each name in the same evening, in the same wet…