Poems

The Anger Returning I’d thought I’d dealt with it enough to take it off the active list,I’d thought the work I’d done had moved it well into the mistOf the addressed and processed and the filed in the behind,The anger returning, and the anger is the kind.The anger returning is the signal of the unfinished […]

The Anger At Myself The anger at the outside world has a legitimate address,There are real and actual things that warrant the distressOf a fury that is proportional and pointed at the cause,The anger at myself is different in its laws.The anger at myself deserves a more precise investigation,The anger at myself requires better adjudication,Not

The Anger Had a Point I’ve been reviewing the case that the anger was making all along,I’ve been auditing the position of the fury and the songIt’s been singing since the first day that I felt itin the blood,The anger had a point, and the point was in the mud.The anger had a point about

Taking What’s Offered Not everything has to be taken by force of will and pressure,some of it is sitting in a clearing at your leisure,and the discipline of knowing when to take the open passageis as real a skill as breaking through the wall at every chapter. Taking what is offered is not surrender to

Taking the Hill We did not take it clean and we did not take it slow,We took it like a mudslide with nowhere left to go,Every boot was sliding and every lung was burning through,But the top of that incline was the only thing we knew. Taking the hill, taking the hill,Not because we could

That Bitch from Apartment 6CShe’s a bleach-blonde detonation with a blackout for a soul,High heels louder than her rock-bottom goals on every floor,Got a smile that’s half apology, half loaded threat, all teeth,Wears red lipstick like a court-mandated statement underneath. She keyed my car and pointed at the planetary alignment,Screams at her dying plants and

Stranger In A Bar In Memphis She was at the bar in Memphis in the kind of barthat Memphis has–the lived-in kind, the scaron the face of the street that means the bar has been there longerthan the neighborhood’s current version and the strongerpull of an old bar in a new evening is its own

Stranger in My Skin I’m a stranger in my skin,holding tight, but breaking thin.Every word they praise feels hollow,like I’m someone I can’t follow. Will they see me for who I’m not?Fragile masks are all I’ve got.If I fall apart, will they still care?When I show them the cracks, will they still be there? I’m

Spider Veins and Sugar Rage She lived in a motelwhere the mirrors had given up on accuracy some years prior,and the walls had absorbed enough of her frequency to develop aspiration higher.She’d organized her pharmaceuticals by emotional needand labeled them accordingly,and the ones on the left shelf werefor the reality she found more orderly. She

Stop Fucking My Mind In The Ass With A Cactus I woke up with a headache shaped like every stupid thing you ever said crammed sideways behind my eyes.You’re squatting in my skull, tracking mud through every thought,turning grocery lists into a trial full of lies.Every ping on my phone feels like a ransom note