Blog, My Poems

The Last Thing He Says Before His Death: “When You Get Home, I’m Sorry.”

The bed was wet with spilled lilies – white pouring down into the stem like sickness. You didn’t find a man in the rafters. You didn’t expect a horse – hung like an ornament in the barn next to a water-logged trailer. What you wanted to see was a carousel, filled with dead leaves, skeletal… Read More The Last Thing He Says Before His Death: “When You Get Home, I’m Sorry.”

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Blog, My Poems

The Girl Leaps into the Field as if to Burst Open like a Cloud

A valley of broken houses – inside a woman who collected rooms – plucked the extensions filled with accessories and moons. (expanding) Surrounded with the shadow of mirrors, she began to unwind her daughter – turned her inside-out pulled her hair through the head of a needle one strand at a time. The daughter watched.… Read More The Girl Leaps into the Field as if to Burst Open like a Cloud

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