by McKenzie | Aug 16, 2014 | Blog, My Poems
I want to get back into drawing, the pencil in my hand, the thick charcoal under my nails. I keep collecting spare pieces of paper, of cardboard, in the hope that something might happen. A horse, gray and white shadows, it appears—the long mane draped...
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
