candle wax dribbles Finish the last box of multiplication as the sound of howling gets louder. A man’s muffled screams and a dog’s...

A drawing of three poems pinned into the wall: each follows the structure for labeling insects in collections, with a species (or title)...

we hesitate to stray away from fixating ourselves to another person or dive in too fast too deep our heart sways with emotion fast...

He stands in the red hall, Follow his arms, asking you to complete the tasks in his call. He builds up a high wall, Worship his charm,...

Each room is a miniature for some larger doll house. All pleasure. Every room is devoid of air—just objects—not lived, but performed....

I am not anywhere, Somewhere in the south. Somewhere in the south, You said I’d be a good mother. That, And another, still. Holy, Pouring...

I think a lot about my funeral When I was a kid, I had a ridiculous fear of death - Which I later discovered was a symptom of childhood...

I wish there was a boy to write poetry about me I wish I were a boy to write poetry about

I can not see the moon and I want to be dead (someone else) Not so that I could see the moon, but so that I would be someone else...

You & I are covered by blankets In nothing but our underwear My head is on your chest Your face is buried in my hair Whispering sweet...

A soul can get stuck walking up and down the stairs of an old house. Sometimes you will feel like you are squeezing past someone who is...

Now that the light is fad i n g the south stares from across the earth. The north has already been d r a w n of its color. As I go...

concave (v. kon-keyv) 1. to allow myself permission to languish into the cavity of my chest and hide amongst hollow bone. 2. i wonder if...

Will I be seen through blurred eyes i cant see me me is unseen to mee I am what is was will be be be repet itiion on drummmm bed snore...

Azure smeared blush. Morass garden. Confusion. Foraging. Heaviness. the question wades against her lips awaiting the tongue’s surrender....

I. LONG BLUE BODY I named my habit the White Lady [death loves white] two years ago: nineteen. The White Lady and I, we thieved we stole...

Vision is abstract, touch is figurative. The Female and the Almost. Or eye, a sense of space, as a specter on a coffin (and falls in the...

My mother has the kind of celestial tongue that is too pure for English. First time going to Miami – one small bag in one hand and hopes...

Don’t let the rest of us become white crosses decorating your lawn. Our bodies are not meant to stay whole— we are steeple-top...

Where will our ark disembark? Will there be better lands stretched forth where we can hold all our siblings? I want to have that hands-on...