Look at me. I am shaking. And you are a chimera wrapped in smoke and denim. Read on, Reader!
Another poem. This one has trees and a sea and a dark kingdom in it, and ton of sleep deprivation. Hooray. Read on, Reader!
Oh, the seasons are changing, aren’t they? The end of summer is the time when a Bluebird’s heart considers poetry. Read on, Reader!
I, at seventeen,/ grand star of that film inside my head,/ am spilling light into the yard/ from my room amongst the trees,/ while peering out into the night— Read on, Reader!
Why are you looking at this frightening picture of me with henna in my hair? Oh, I have my reasons. Do you wanna hear ‘em? Read on, Reader!
It is a deference you make,
a concordance you set
between you, and your gravity.
Then, rest. Read on, Reader!
No one watches correctly— the conjurer makes sure
all paying eyes stray to the glint of his large amber ring— Read on, Reader!
blooming in my head this morning while the jackhammers
kick the asphalt six feet below the windows next to my bed. Read on, Reader!
Today is like a rare curiosity behind a glass case
in the old dusty hobby shop that never looks open— Read on, Reader!
Consider the animal nature
of your breath— Read on, Reader!
Human nature is only nature, after all. Read on, Reader!
And some days, but not others, I am walking through the drying linens tucked away from the street in Mrs. Kormos’ backyard, Read on, Reader!
isn’t like crossing the street. Read on, Reader!
Walk in any direction of this place and you might hear
tarnished bells rung by the stealth of silent men
typists clacking love letters for a dollar a page…. Read on, Reader!
I am not a war-torn island; I am a woman in search of answers. Read on, Reader!
Ah. That’s the one. Read on, Reader!
Don’t be afraid to break things, or to be broken by them. Read on, Reader!
Do not be fooled. Language is feral. Read on, Reader!
Forget everything you’ve learned
as you breathe into your hands
on this cold morning. <3 Read on, Reader!
When your poem broke, you called the mechanic. Read on, Reader!
The marbled surface of your skin is black and white, and regular. Read on, Reader!
You read Virginia Woolf. You read Hermann Hesse.
You swim, word-weighted,
through the aqueous shadows
of a late afternoon. Read on, Reader!
To commemorate the official start of the Bluebird Blvd. Silly Season—which will go through the end of August—I thought we could play a game.
A writing game!
Have you ever heard of an Exquisite Corpse? Read on, Reader!
Quick! Let’s write poetry.
We can use an old recipe from McCall’s. Read on, Reader!
Never fool with the trickster’s daughters.
We nimble knots with our toes. Read on, Reader!
perhaps I still stand in front of the glass tank—
and the seahorses still converse in the flowing grasses. Read on, Reader!
—while that other me, the one I’ve been expecting,
sits at an outdoor cafe with an old pen and a new notebook. Read on, Reader!
Wait. Right here at the center of the square at five o’clock a gent will arrive with his dog and his accordion case. Wait. Read on, Reader!
These are symbols,
greater and lesser, as am I, with my hands in my pockets,
my north-south face fixed erect as a map that leads
to the end of a sentence— Read on, Reader!