Poems for living at the edges of worlds.
2,297 words


With grave concern
for self and others,
weaving some yarn may
undo our covers.

Yet when I come
to offer the tale,
mine may be selfish,
yours off the table.

What can be done
from inside these gates,
if nobody's truth
is freed to take place?

The wait grows long
while discourse abounds,
still doing its work
on desolate grounds.


Looping cursive lines
were never my strong suit,
with unpredictable scrawl
defacing ashen sheets.
The press of a plastic key
is nearly always the same.

In Sky

Not a sigh or
sight above those
shifting bows of
vapor trails that
leave their form on
eyelids, hopes our


To speak, to share:
flightless wing
on frigid air,
caught in flapping
flags moored there,
yet left to sing.

Of Knowledge

That guileless throughput
cannot reduce me to browsing
still: a butterfly gone back
to its warm cocoon.

Open your eager ears
to all those tormented, dusty
burrs: lurking in the touchstones
of a bookish dream.

Resourcefully yours,

The Blip

That swiftest mass
with airy wrath, can fall
and crash, make rubble of all
or pass, of peaceful lines
of a pre-planned path.

Only the radar knows that
the blip, with all its energy
is just a blip, a ripple in an
electromagnetic void with
such immense awareness.


Those tapping fingers,
unsealing the icy
island of a mind.

Thoughts slip through
and make their way to
little pockets of truth.

One can know comfort
in these basic limits,
a winding contactlessness.


It could be fortunate:

To struggle alongside
in that twilight field
and, at the impasse,
with a wounded hip.

Tightly holding on for
that blessing in the
balance with a flower
close to the chest.

A herald, or a spark
relinquished in the
dark knowledge of
that tiny tussle.

Now the hugest thing,
incomprehensible yet
nothing possible that
could be more kind.


How could we know competence
without finding it on the horizon,
a distant pool caught by the eye
of one who thirsts?

As you near the mirage, remember:
nobody can make you thirsty.
Your body holds more water
than their entire desert.


A shard of pink cloth
framing a small face
now blue, and still
meaning without time
or absentminded past.

Instantly unconscious,
perception stems
from whatever carbons
clung through these
adequate limbs.

Eyes roving amidst
the moorland slumber,
still jotting upon
spent clay, depending
on a new farewell.

Easter Eggs

Now write:
Lay Easter eggs,
flesh out collaboratively,
say some shit,
try to fit
and change
and add.

Now transform:
Switch a word,
switch some words,
swap a word,
̶s̶w̶a̶p̶ delete words,
add nuance
to cite
and switcheroo.

Now refine:
Tweak a word,
add some nuance
in the form.
Fix formatting,
trade strictures
for knots.

Now decompost:
Emphasize better,
reorient .a period
Add three words,
add 2
and find
and mind.

Collaborative Bodies

Hope leaves somewhat quickly
when proficiency dulls, though
spines will those wishes that
viscous thoughts produce.

If we can preferably be together,
old arrangements could sober us
and give us new energy for our
pliable kin, though all desires
pace us slightly, finding our
selves under bunching skin.

Held in hoops of similar knots
unalterable, yet not so dismal:
not scientific but measured,
your eyes and mine, biologic
and ready to care.

An Editing Incident

Scratch yourself
with a dull razor,
in spite of the
hankering for calm.

Identities that make
their way along lucid
pathways intertwine
in those difficult
moments where you
learn something.


How fortunate that
anything can pleat along
unhitched lines; these
American movings

at all hours, freighting
those hard-won chances
with whomever might
inflammably persevere.

Come, know anyone today:
muddle your torqued
convalescence, give them
generous comparisons

now here but not
parroting another flesh,
within the whittled stance
of a fragrant heart.


I sync with anything the orbitals have
recomposed in eternal autonomies.

From effevescent, isometric lands
outfaced by accordionists,
accelerating notions, darling,
wreath your reef of wheals.

For though our cetacean bones
called to another's
we wait in silence.

Co-written with Lilith Rose