Poems

Adipocere The fat converts to wax beneath the wet earth where the boxhas let the groundwater in through the seams and the locksof the casket that was guaranteed to last a hundred years,and the body is becoming soap, rendering its fears into a white and waxy substance that preserves the formlong after the flesh has […]

Airport Television The screen is mounted twelve feet up and faces forty gates,The sound is off but the captions scroll the fatesOf markets and of candidates and weather in a stateI’m not departing to, at a frequency and rateThat suggests the content team believes in volume as virtue,The captions have three typos per screen and

A Dawg In the Houses Of the Holy I hit the side door laughing with the dust still on my black boots,cheap smoke in my lungs and a bad moon under my skinGold saints stared down from the ceilingwhile the old boards held their breath and the choir kept polishing up its grinI was raised

AM The mattress is a bog, a wet-rot trap of cottonand stale sweat where I’ve become a tectonic plate of pure inactionMy ribcage feels like lead pipe,pinning down a heart that’s too bored to even thud with purposeOutside, the bin-men are screaming like gulls over a carcass,tossing glass into the maw of a truck, a

12 WAGMI It’s twelve minutes after eleven, did you already make your wish,or did you let the moment slip pastlike every other promise that dissolved before it could take shape,I’m standing in a kitchen that hums like exhausted machinerywhile bills stare from the counter with their red-ink mouths open,calendar marked with appointments that feel lesslike

3 Am Again Phone face up on the nightstand dragging my eyes back from sleeplike a hook under skin,One stupid notification, then another,then I’m gone again, pulled right back in,Room is quiet, neighbors out cold, but my ceiling’s full of flickering ghosts,Every app lined up like shots at a barwhere the bartender never stops filling

Yes Means More I’m not just caught in the grip of a touch,it’s your words that drive me, that mean just as much.Every directive you give, each command that you say,pulls me deeper than desire, in a much darker way. It’s not about force, nor is it about pain,it’s the power in your voice that’s

-12You say it half joking, half bitter:I’m built for the fight,that you only trust songs that sound like an argument with God,movies that end in night.You talk like wanting simple joy is some kind of betrayalof the shit you’ve seen.Like craving a cheesy flick disrespects every scared kidthat crossed the screen. But then you light

Whispers in the Green In the quiet of my sanctuary, where the green whispers low,my plants hum a secret, a sinister show.They shiver in thirst, beckoning for a taste,of the crimson that spills in no haste.One spoke in a murmur, under twilight’s cloak,“They’re watching,” it said, and my reality broke. A prick of my thumb,

Within Deep within, where touch begins to resonate,a universe expands where feelings congregate.Underneath the skin, a rush, a gentle quake,as lips lock on a nipple, senses awake.Each pull, a pulse that radiates, unfolds,a story of warmth in the space it holds. Beyond the first time, where nerves and thrill collide,inside, a blossoming, where deepest fears