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!