Poem of the Week

I have worlds
to burn.
I am
a wobbly state
of Materia Confusa. […]

dirty words are manufactured, too. this should be considered when getting buggered by a scientific socialist. her locs long enough to tickle the strap-on — extended-praise — […]

you wish a life with a little room     for happiness
like you picture the sky       purged of light
pollution    so you can see at last the stars […]

Dear Brown Bright Heart,
sneak into my mouth—crowned glory
loosen my coarse crimson tongue […]

Here’s the problem: the day and hour are bright.
Sunlight, outside the window, as it falls through
the remaining leaves of silver maples and tulip poplars,
dapples onto the garden grass. The house is quiet […]

I’m dangerous; there’s little left

inside this body—

that hasn’t wanted not to subtract […]

Pedestrians point to the out of frame
lamppost, sky, storefront
all parallel to those in view through
the window one woman calls
Self-Portrait with Various Faces
[…]

and each and every
each and every inch
of each and every each […]

His face the rock cliff His face the rock cliff   a place of views   his face a shelter   a barn   a loyal brother full of lips   his face in aging   a mirror and a protest […]

In humid spaces
speech sleeps on your lap,
you gouge serenities […]