THE ANTELOPE DO NOT HAVE EARS, HERE.
Every time I dream of you,there is
standing off the curb likecamouflaged silk.
A YIELD signreflects
off its hindquarters.
A breeze—and the furglows yellow.
The area seems to whimper.
I blink, as if to sayI looked that way, too, once.
- Published by Emerge Literary Journal
SHOPPING FOR T-REX
When I was eight years old, someone took meto see the dinosaurs
at the museum. We were going downa spiral staircase, glass cylinder
at the center with a T-Rexsuspended
inside. I leaned out, triedto see its toes below, the cables. But this is how
I really remember it: part of meis standing on the other side
of the spiral. I can see the skulland that clamp of a jaw, the teeth
stripped to nothing but bone, no marrow, and I can see myselfleaning forward, looking down. If not for my palms
pressed white against the glass, it would appearas if I were leaning against
the muzzle, figuring outhow to fall.
- Published by Whale Road Review
We are in this together: how we want for a simpler way out: exit strategies,
a blossom lost in a field of blossoms. (A shadow walks across the moon
and is gone.) Let me speak for both of us: we want so simply
to be erased: how the hologram of a humpback whale takes the plunge
into a school gymnasium floor. Its cleanup is simple: two clicks, and it’s gone.
Erase the tanks. Erase our fingers, for they do most of our bidding. Pull the cloak from the cupboard drawer
and draw it over the edge ofthe world. The mess will remain hiddenunderneath.
- Featured in great weather for MEDIA's 2019 anthology, Birds Fall Silent in the Mechanical Sea
PASSING THROUGH MY NEIGHBOR’S BACKYARD
Because her patio door is open, the sunis pouring over a table
and chairs, all those rhododendronsand pollen. In that light I can see
up the stairs and intoher living room, where the woman
is sleeping on her couch, bare feet crossedand dangling off the end. Pink,
chipped toenails. In her sleep, she kissesher knuckles, individually.
Stars on her hair.I wonder where she is,
and when, and who is kissingher hands—so slowly. The trees here
are quiet, almost courteous. They watchover my shoulders. She moans
in her sleep. We are all such beautiful soldiers.
- Published by New Mexico Review
My second relationship looked something like this:
spun from what was leftin the kitchen each night, all fish
and sinew. He had the largest hands,butcher-palms, blood under the nails,
and his teeth were white scarecrowsafter too many fights. The salt-blue eyes
stared as he forced my head backinto the sink and hair down
into the drain, flipped the switch.
The teeth whirred, and the knives nearbybecame birds charading
in children’s clothes. I tilted my headfarther back until I could see the sky
through the small window:the stars were going by in small pools.
- Published by James Franco Review
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