Saturday, June 30, 2012


outside there is
thunder and I am thinking about
lightning, trees split in two

Thursday, June 28, 2012

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

(desire: in parts)

I want your unlaced
fingertips slicing down my spine.
Bones collapsing.

Your milky way entrails
smear sand across the harbor.
Fishermen weep.

Cities flee from us.
Our love is an earthquake.
You burn me to ash.

Monday, June 25, 2012

(I want to be lit up: a not-quite haiku in seven parts)

I want to be lit up
like bright
bits of tinfoil on

baby's heads
a UFO landing

not like
diamonds, blood, not this

patch I've been plodding through, sand
paper, but like

flakes of mica
shining through
and like


in dark fields

exploding with lights

Friday, June 22, 2012