Poems

The Half-Read Book Page one forty-seven, that’s where the bookmark’s been since the end of summer,the book and I have been in this extended mutual bummerof the nightstand and the never-quite — I pick it up two nights a week,read four pages and lose the thread before I’m fully asleep. The book is good, I […]

The Hall That Swallows SoundBehold the corridor of institutioned dread,where voices enter whole and exit — not at all —where what a man projects from larynx, chest, and headdissolves against the plaster of the hallwith the thoroughness of paper meeting flame,not muffled — consumed — without the dignityof echo, without even the defamedand mangled residue

The Group Photo Maneuver I have a system and I am not ashamed to claim it here,A photo-positioning approach refined across the years,Back left, slight angle, chin tilted at eleven degrees,A science developed out of photographic personal disease. The direct frontal photo is a gamble I do not take lightly,The overhead shot requires a very

The Group That Made a Difference I did not expect much from the group when I first showed up there,A collection of people assembled around a shared affair,I came with a modest expectation and a plan to leave early,A ninety-minute commitment and no attachment, purely. That was three years ago and I have not missed

The Ground Under My Feet I need to feel it solid, need to feel the push-back when I step,Need to know the earth is answering the pressure that I’ve kept,Packed inside my heels from every mile I’ve walked toward something real,The ground under my feet is the most honest thing I feel. Men will lie

The Great Filter Feed The sky is a mouth that is starting to closeThe answer is written in the rows of the frozen and the deadWe scanned the vacuum for a signal or a signBut the stars are just tombstones and the frequency is deadEvery planet is a laboratory of greedWhere the silicon grows and

The Golden AppleShe walked through orchard shade like law in heels,calm lips, sharp eyes, hands clean as theft.The fruit hung heavy—bright metal daylighttrapped in skin, a prize that made the air hold its breath.The others smiled like courteous knives,trading compliments like coins,pretending hunger had no depth.She didn’t beg, she didn’t plead.She measured every face like

The Goodbye FuckShe had her bags packed by the door.Keys on the table.Don’t leave, I said.Give me one reason.I am ableto walk right now and mean it. I grabbed her by the jaw,kissed her so hard she dropped her purse on the floor—raw,and open,the kiss more blade than affection. She kissed back with equal fury,equal

The Gig EconomyHe drives for three apps because one app isn’t enoughto cover the insurance the apps refuse to cover—the bluffof independent contractor flexibility: that freemeans free to work the hours nobody else will beavailable to work, which is the weekend shift at twoand the holidays and the forty-minute drives to youfrom nowhere, which the

The Gilded NooseThe silk is knotted tight around the carotidA crimson stripe proving I’m not yet rottedI buff the oxblood leather till the surface screamsA polished coffin for the father’s busted dreams I walk among the concrete where the pigeons shitA candidate for cages with the proper witThe skyscraper is a needle in a vein