Tag: ars poetica


What have you done to me I demand an explanationWhat have you done to me I am here having a heart attackover the smallest of minutiae like an entire story clumped as a comma I am no longer alone in the living room of my head thoughts of you pack themselves to the ceilingand spread […]


Arms take to music, each limb a swaying branch, my room anopera’s booth; music streams softly down the mountains of my shoulders. I am perpetual in rehearsal, drinking in the introductory steps to how I canbe art, which is to say. how I can obfuscate which I am to say.I imagine the artist’s mind like […]


Always a catch before the deluge,a notch high in the throat. Always another head popping up at the shooting gallery, another round nestled in the barrel. There is somepredictability to this life, and only a few likely ways for us to die. Mypoetry no longer surprises me, soI stopped calling it poetry and letit take […]


In this version, I am sitting quiet in the forest behind my house, my path back having long been coveredwith snow. The trees are quiet brushes in anotherman’s bathroom, the lake the frosted-over mirror. My hands are heavy with the weight of longing, andso cold from the wintry air. It was not the best idea […]


if the sum of two narratives is equivalent to a single narrative then all stories are like books in that they fold into themselvesand a universe of text collapsing like a swan with a folded wingshot down from the errant pellet of a slingshot-bearing teenager whose hands are filled with the instinct for frenetic kineticism […]


this time, the flu has made its way past the front gate of my skull and nestling itself in the living room of my nose it starts to scratch and scratch at the walls, the wallpaper bleeding translucent slug-slime green-yellow-bile drip-dropping down the monotony of skin, and it is as though there is a fist […]


Give me a poet who does not know violence like the inside of their mouths, their tongues running across it to smooth the groove. Give me a poet who does not know what it means for injustice to take root and become its own narrative. Give me a poet who is not afraid of the […]


I am thinking of far-flung lands where iron towers rise from the muddy earth erect and foreboding, these beautiful sabers aimed at the heavens. The cloudsare a splotch of grey vomiting out the dried-up tears of yesterday’s disaster, but they are not enough to put the fires to sleep. Rain pulses across the roofs of […]


i’ve been thinking of how to make a poem which isn’t a poem which is to say since everything can and should be poetry everything should and can be treated as such i wake up in the morning and my sheets are crumpled over in a balled hedgehog curl bound on the end of the […]