Poems

Dissociation Station I left my body somewhere on the highway between the exits,I filed the report but nobody in the bureau accepts it,I am operating from approximately here,close enough to function, far enough that nothing is clear.The woman at the coffee shop said have a lovely morning,and I watched myself respond without receiving any warning,the […]

Don’t Get Up Yet She threw one leg across my hip and said don’t get up yet,Reached down between us where the morning had already set,The table for the feast, she grabbed my cock half-hard and stroked,Me back to full attention while the morning light provoked. Every shadow on her face into a frame of

Dirty Text Thread Started at nine in the morning.Innocent enough.By noon we weretrading felonies. She sent a picture of her hand inside her panties at her desk,I sent back what I would do about it, nothing left to guess,She typed one-handed for an hour while her coworkers walked past,I described positions, pressures, rhythms, first to

Disruptive InnovationThe pitch was fifteen minutes. The first two were his story.The founder needs that struggle arc before the deckGets to the traction slides. He described the wreckOf his first company that died because of timing,And the wreck of his second that failed despite the rhymingOf the concept with the moment — and then the

Dirty Halo (Part II) She’s back from whatever bed she burned down last —lipstick, lawsuits, borrowed light,Got a rosary she traded for a handle of tequila in a dim bar she won’t find,Boys with better judgment swore they’d learned from round one —that was their mistake,She came back prettier and twice as dangerous wearing someone

Derealization Blues The world went two-dimensional around a month ago,a backdrop painted in a workshop somewhere far belowthe resolution I remember from before it shifted,I touch the walls and feel the texture but I feel unlisted.My hands are in the foreground doing all the usual things,making coffee, signing checks, answering my calls and pings,but there

Destruction in a Summer DressDestruction does not come in armor,it comes in a summer dress.It comes barefoot on warm concrete,tan lines and a messof dark hair falling forward,of bitten lips and brown eyesthat hold you down without touching,that undress you in disguise. Destruction is a woman tonight,standing in my kitchen drinking my wine,running her finger

Digital Static My thumb keeps turning disaster like pages in a book I never chose to understandA child in rubble, a town on fire,a blue-lit confession, and I don’t even move my handI should feel something heavy, something holy,something that drags me to my knees in the sandYet my face stays neutral as paperwork,and my

Decibel Record She downloaded an app.A sound meter.Put it on the nightstand.And said let us see how loud I actually get. The baseline was conversation at about sixty decibels,By the time I had her warmed up she was at the level,Of a vacuum cleaner, seventy-five and climbing,When I hit the right spot the timing. Decibel

Dead Train In The Tunnel Car was packed shoulder to shoulder when the lights blinked weak and diedMetal screamed itself to silence in the middle of the underground rideSomebody cursed in the fucking darkness, somebody laughed it off too loudHeat rose up from the track like a secret under the crowd I pulled out my