Poems

Parade Of Ash And Fabric [Wraith]This year the bunting went up late, sagging between warped porch posts like tired smiles that never quite reach the eyes anymore,red white blue triangles frayed at the points, swinging over driveways where oil stains, fireworks casings, and old beer cans map out past years’ war.Kids still chalk crooked stars […]

Paper Spells and Ribbon Knots [Wreath]The floor is still a battlefield of last night’s joy, cardboard armor collapsed beside the couch,Strips of wrapping paper stuck to socks, rogue tape clinging to the dog’s tail like it’s sworn an oath to never let go, no matter how much he slinks and slouches,Bows decapitated from their rightful

Paper Cuts On Wrapped-Up Wishes [Wreath]December creeps in with its usual glitter hangover and obligation, a slow crawl of fake snow in storefronts and emails that all sound the same,You clear a corner of the living room floor like you are opening an operating theater, roll out paper covered in cartoon reindeer and twinkling lights,

Paper Skies Waiting For Ink [Wreath] The old year is still half pinned to the fridge with crooked magnets and junk mail menus,a limp soldier of coffee stains and crossed-out appointments hanging there like it forgot how to quit,corners curled, boxes crowded with scribbles that look more like EKG lines than plans,tiny autopsies of days

Nightshade on the Doorframe [Wraith]The year was already running ragged when she found it in that attic sale, dust in her hair and triumph in her grin as she held up the thing like a prize from some back alley dare,Laura turning in a circle between busted trunks and chipped porcelain saints, saying it was

Offbeat Halos in the Midnight Kitchen [Wreath]It starts with you yawning in the hallway, hair a mess and eyeliner ghosted half across one eye,midnight slumped on your shoulders like a lazy cat while you mutter something about leftovers and call me a menace for still being awake this late in December’s frayed sigh.I’m standing in

New Year’s First Lie-In [Wreath]The first morning of January drags itself up over the rooftops like it’s hung over from everyone’s declarations,Light creeping in around the curtains with the shy courage of someone coming home late and hoping not to wake their own expectations.You’re wrapped in a cocoon of blankets that smell like last night’s

Next December’s Stranger in the Glass [Wreath]I lean on the windowsill that’s chipped from three landlords ago and two lives I don’t talk about, watching my breath draw soft white ghosts on the frosted pane while the street throws up its lazy Christmas afterthoughts,and the whole world looks like somebody smeared powdered sugar over a

Mute All The Merry Noise [Wreath] My phone is facedown on the nightstand, humming like a trapped insect that learned how to read,screen lighting up the wall in jumpy little pulses, like distant fireworks reflected on some tired bedroom ceiling no one bothered to repaint this year,and I’m lying here under a crooked blanket, half

New Year’s Eve in HellNew Year’s Eve in Hell The air hung thick with stale beer and regret.Outside, a sign buzzed and flickered —THE PIT, it said, in dying red.Inside, at a table tacky with spilled drinks,four friends huddled close, their laughterdrowning out the band playing somewhere in the corner,half-forgotten, playing to no one. “Can