Memories

  You should know by now that we can’t go back. Not like this. Not back through the electric fence or past the sheep, dehydrated and teeming. Past the mailboxes and songs. Our bodies are like their bodies now, stormed over and pale with all this sunlight and dung. We never should have come out…

Share
Read More

A Demonstration

  There was no other way to tell you that life was harmful: threw the box into the river, filled with rocks, with you, with light. There is nothing left but stars.     August 12, 2014, MLT    

Share
Read More

A Tribute

  Tears burn yellow, burn wide, in the sun. The small sunflower seeds left over along your collar and in your hair. They are senseless, aimless, unceasing. This is the definition of mourning. It is a marionette, a song, unweaving.     August 11, 2014, MLT    

Share
Read More

Sunflowers,

  and concern. There is a vase of the yellow masses in the window. They remain motionless despite the sound of the air cracking, the belt. Thirteen, fourteen. His body, in this space, is pointless.     August 10, 2014, MLT    

Share
Read More

Dragonflies: A Snapshot

  In the rain, they are too small. The wings, the small holes, the designs, are filled with water. Their bodies glisten. I collected a jar of them and kept them in the garage for winter, one side frosted with window air. Their bodies quickly froze to the sides, a strange kaleidoscope of purple and…

Share
Read More

In Plain Sight

  Left out on the farm, there is the threat to turn cold. The discovery of the skeleton of an opossum on the line between the yard and the field, blending into the rocks. Like a small jesus—and the wise men are touching walking sticks to forehead. I think of picking it up, taking it…

Share
Read More

Caterpillar Towns

  Look at the way the body separates; the individual, round skulls—the rotation, the turn, the hum. The brains lift down into the feet, small propellers. As if you and I were connected, somehow.     August 7, 2014, MLT    

Share
Read More

Running Behind on Sharing Postcards

  Hi all—Sorry for the lag on posting my daily project for the 2014 August Poetry Postcard Fest. I’ve been completing these postcards daily but have not had the time to actually post the pictures. Stay tuned, and I’ll have that caught up in a day or two!    

Share
Read More

I’ll Be Honest,

  Weeds are meant to be pulled. Their wide, twine roots, boxing everything else in. It all takes so little time, the swarm, they take over. I struggle with the beautiful ones, negotiate their responsibility, and end up pulling them up anyway. Guts and roots. A brutal cycle. Like us in a snow storm, all…

Share
Read More