After Jimmy Cvetic’s “Just Because” Don’t skin the pencil of its yellow coating like you’re some French fur trader Don’t hide behind the...

homage to D.H. Lawrence I return too often to the bayou land of my marriage there: lone cypress folded in like a dark thought for...

Air thick, not cold, still, moist. Gray skies. The world is not transformed by a vow or a wish. A spider hangs above the chair next to...

Trainee. Young woman—no, a girl in a lab coat. Treadmill, a stress test. Nervously she says Excuse me but I have to shave your chest hair...

I Wind over grain becomes you, ripples in rhythm under your skin, a sapling in the wind, its leaves in love with the pavement. II Each of...

My Mother Rose from the Dead days after mourners whispered and wailed their farewells. Her lungs were now pure, her mood magnanimous....

Event Horizon What exactly is an event horizon she asked but he had no explanation the two words seemingly irreconcilable one of them...

A red-capped woodpecker jabs his insistent beak into the birdfeeder outside my kitchen window, taking what he needs from what he finds,...

Borrowed form 11 Then there was what to do. So long alone with the lines. Let go. Watch them wither. Wilt. To a stop. Stare at the ones...

Semantic “And if the blood/ on your hands grows too dark,/ think of the bright pail of milk, its froth,/ how you made something good/...

Driving Through Penn Valley On Our Way To View An Apartment The rain comes down in drenches, swells the banks of green streams below us....

25 The quarter is in my pocket now, knocking soundlessly between my fingers. It wants me to feel its worth, its weight. I will not...

Both Russian and English by the author Тишина тяжелее моей жизни. Я не пойду дальше. Я читаю книгу на русском и ничего не понимаю. Я...

Sonnet for Scabbing The flowers don’t give a fuck. They can’t fix this. Try to fight your skin off. Imagine how good it would finally...

Beyond Gravity When stars fly as planned, I am not the bluest flame driven into the gutter glass of August. I stomach the bruised side of...

“And if we say An art is lost when it no longer knows How to teach a sorrow to speak, come, see The way we lost it: stacking letters in...

Repair after Tess Gallagher I love the little tips that would have pointed to his pockets & reading about women who would never want a...

The Cold Catching Competition I did not catch this cold. You didn’t hurl it towards me like a rugby ball, Arms reflexive as it thundered...

The Use of History Two stools and a man on one, his hands burned smooth and numb, printless. There’s free popcorn. The bartender fills...

I scribble lines in my mind about the feline invading my backyard. How the white and turd brown thing leaves poop in my veggie garden,...