Posts
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Thunder and the Boat
we're lying,
resplendent
as corpses
on the deck
of our boat,
staring into
the folds of
the universe's
moth-eaten -
Love Poem
I want to write a love poem to a volcano,
but that would involve learning to love God
and I’m not quite ready to make peace
with the war yet. I’m still fighting, still kissing, -
Existentialism
cut the string, swallow the sea, burn the boat.
I never wanted to chronicle the apocalypse.
Easter, Christ rose from the dead like a fresh
loaf of bread. the East had it right, communion -
An Unraveling
I recently came across a translation of Euripedes’s Medea by David Kocas. It felt more like an encounter really, like I'd come across Medea herself: an icon in a barren church, a window into God’s abandoned feminine half, a woman burning with grief. -
The Bus
inch worms are portals,
this one is full of golden light,
a sour smell, and a hum,
humming louder than a hive.
I climbed inside, listened
to it creak as it folded forward, -
Prayer Wheel or Capitol Hill Autonomous Zone
At the beginning of December, I found myself on Capitol Hill for a poetry reading. I had some time to spare, so I walked around the neighborhood’s green-space, Cal Anderson Park.
Loves
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Hand-Scrawled Lines
I want to breathe
Both with looming skyscrapers,
And mountains stretched high,
To feel the sun
Smiling on my skin,
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I Bake America - Inspired by the "I, Too, Sing America" poems
If my life, my American life, was a table setting
Laid out lovingly by all my ancestors.
It would have the usual trappings:
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The Blackbird
There’s a blackbird outside my window,
but he doesn't sing.
His golden eyes glow like horizons,
pupils like sinking ships.
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My Girlfriend
I feel her bracelet cold on my wrist
I taste the coffee bitter in my mouth
I smell her perfume drifting in the air
I see her standing over me, strong and beautiful
