Poem About The Sound Coneflowers Make Against A Stone Bench As I Lay Watching Our Swan, We Had Named Him Leander, Decided He Was King Of The River, His Crown Only Visible By Moonlight w i s p Poem About Chickadees Trapped In A Mall Foodcourt, Chirpi...

Songs from nonexistent birds loop forever overhead. Foliage relentlessly manicured into the picturesque version of tree-lined streets as clean as surgical tables. Outside the Main Street Bakery in Liberty Square, the air is thick with a strategicall...

The creep of modernity into the Arctic happens slowly cable television fiber optics the internet of things all of them allowing the faster purchase of technology all of them requiring electricity and the use of fossil fuel all of them molding the...

and the host seats me so close to you that your clean scent of shampoo and soap persists long after our friendly hug hello and I think about you in the shower and then me in the shower with you and then I make myself stop thinking all together becau...

I tell Nicole about the cone of light inside of which we’re all contained, and how, once expelled from its magical and mysterious source, nothing that exists can go back to where it was born. She holds it like a curse, the knowledge that simply due ...

A few texts. Two hour-long phone conversations. A plan for a Saturday date a week in advance. A Christmas hello text that turns into an hour of texts that turns into Wanna meet up tonight? Three hours of deep conversation at the bar. One make-out se...

While I was still in my mother's womb, I dreamt that I grew taller than the sky, from where I harnessed rain in my palms; I stared down and saw dryness scattered upon the ground like flakes of fallen leaves, prostrated logs of dry wood, broken twigs...

Does it all come down, at last, to slipping onto the subway before the doors shush closed or not? To dropping by a bar for one last nightcap before the morning flight to Rome? Such minor divisions between life and another The width of a bullet A hin...

Though I can't see math for aftermath I can see patterns past. What happened to your appetite, time traveler, when your dessert was not served first. There's a per capita in every lapse but none to monetize. It's half past Planck time, let the butte...

Every soldier has returned home, but my father is yet to return. Our town is alive with soldiers returning, some with half-lives, others with half a body ; some in sediment and sacks of sand; others return in pillars of bullets and gunshots, like th...

She stands here in haste, Waiting for the rush of home, But it lacks a place. He found his way home And learned home was not there or Where or even home. Now, both lie in wait For something like victory To give them their own. J. Chester Johnson ha...

for Cathy I don’t know what it is I love the most About you: your hair? the color of your eyes? A skin’s soft touch? Despite how hard I try To quantify, this list not even close. Aware of what’s at stake, a lover’s guile Will seek, entice, construe ...

Curses coming, the wind and rain unbury dead leaves. Ambush. Foolish to hike the Cascade ridge just to hike the ridge glassy sheen on stones. Damp bangs stick to our forehead like leeches that suck out senses. This litany of footsteps is a dialogue ...

If there are angels I hope they stay awake when the band has played all night & the near bartender is running out of ice & the bartender with red lipstick might not be an angel, but might be one, who knows, while one other possible angel sit...

Stormin’ Norman, broad of chest and red of neck, fished off the Mexican coast when he felt a great punch on the line. This jolt from the sunken world roused him from lassitude, from a floppy-hatted contentment atop the Sea of Cortez, barely within s...