by McKenzie | Aug 16, 2014 | Reading
BECCA She says, It’s my birthday I’m going tomorrow. What’s your favorite font? What should I have him write? Serifs, I say, I like serifs. I like old typewriters—the keys little platters. I don’t answer the question about what to write. The vellum...
by McKenzie | Aug 15, 2014 | Blog, My Poems
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...
by McKenzie | Aug 14, 2014 | Blog, My Poems
A promise of something small—and the skin warms. August 13, 2014, MLT
by McKenzie | Aug 14, 2014 | Blog, My Poems
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
by McKenzie | Aug 14, 2014 | Blog, My Poems
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,...
