His life could fit into a road atlas ( Read more... )

What did I learn by losing my innocence ( Read more... )

That last poem was the latest from The Dust Bowl. Yes, I'm still lingering on that piece. It just won't die like a good mistake should. ^______^ So I keep writing it.

I walk away from the ticket window feeling ( Read more... )

The previous two poems were from a new collection about my mother's final days. It's all I can do sometimes to even write these things.

Bathroom trips are ( Read more... )

I’m leaving ( Read more... )

His stubble and his brown eyes ( Read more... )

He calls me

And we talk

But I can't hear

Anything

Over the sound of

His skin

Like canvass growing

Around the bullet

To conceal and disprove

The pain.

Find me

In black holes and
empty rooms and
silence.

I have crossed lines

To stand in your footprints.