Chambray shirt,
knees with dirt.
You're just in from the garden.
The summer squash are done.
I say I always wanted a postbox
with no postcard in
it.

( Read more... )

I want to drop everything in order to pick up what matters most. Work will always exist, but people leave or die or change their minds every day. I want to get on a train to New Orleans and tell a person I love that I love them to their face. I want to press send. I want to smoke fewer cigarettes. I want to never stop enjoying the scent of cloves. ( Read more... )

(x) Under the streetlight stars ( Read more... )

Baby, I'm glassy eyed
eyeing a shot glass of rye,
trying to figure why
we're not alone.

I know matters are strange.
Haven't had time in days,
but all bad things stay
inside our bones
(inside of our bones)
in spite of our bones.

( Read more... )

The subway ( Read more... )

Pulse quick as a leveret
when spring begins,
I wouldn't worship anywhere willing to let me in
after dark a little lit,
but winter stings
and I want to trust the well I know will let me sink.

( Read more... )

Standing penniless,
shoe gazing toward the change
having fallen
through the subway grate.
Rolling directionless,
bruised harder than a blood orange
having tumbled
out of its crate.
Are we bound
to do the same
mistakes
again?

( Read more... )

Please, I beg you, don't turn the car around yet ( Read more... )

Casady grins to the sting of the shower on her back
as if I can see through ceramic walls
of my own eyelids. I’m on my back, fast asleep, fastened to sheets
in her bedroom. I only know it aches because she tells me, hints
my fingers are worth their hurt in scrapes,

and smirk to be worth something.

Be quiet on the way home ( Read more... )