the city disintegrates and the highway ( Read more... )

there's a thunderstorm. i'm bored and exhausted but i don't want to sleep, so i'm looking through old entries. this was a poem i had privated. i'm not sure why... i might have written it drunk. it's not my best effort but it's something different.

driving in the city, cubes of lined light run ( Read more... )

a round of prayers, and my body trembles from caffeine,
or maybe it's the spirit, i think, shaking off the dust inside-
things like that used to happen ( Read more... )

symbols sling the broken parts. they incense and stretch
into the air, stowed away, ghosts. they lay martyred
on the sanctuary floor, clang with loose change
in the collection plate. what happened.
we once could hold them,
taste them on our tongues, swallow
and feel something shifting, changing
on the inside.

i want it back ( Read more... )

far away, the water looks filmed with ice, closer ( Read more... )

somewhere last feburary i lost my resolutions ( Read more... )

going south, the skyline is a solid gray;
coming home, it's hidden in stacks and dollops
of storm clouds, and i miss my exit because
i've been writing poetry in my head,
searching for the perfect metaphor
to give this feeling a name.

behind me are the flatter grays,
before me are teased-out strips of blue.

this body feels less like a temple than a simple ( Read more... )

i watch a down feather lope through the air ( Read more... )