Left, and the sound of birds

He has neveer had
any of the women he filled.
Where they go
they go completely.

-

The wooden blinds
the silent room
light taken by a cloud.

Originally published by: Ink in Thirds Summer 2016

Tiny mother

Her hair is knotted like
low Texas trees
bristled and burred.

She watches
her beautiful, empty child
with automatic legs
spilling and wheeling

the way rain makes a view new.

Originally published by: Ink in Thirds Summer 2016

Wild god

On bad nights, he approachers her like you would a wild dog. He lays
hands on her, mapping out her waist, her thighs, her neck until she is
home in her body.

Still, there is something about the thrill of it. Her opening up, empty
beneath him. He can fall into her without perchase, finding new places,
pinching holes in her. He becomes creator...the Wild God. he wakes up
with someone folded, with a new light before he realizes.

Originally published by: Ink in Thirds Summer 2016

Red velvet

The morning air is gentle
ceding her space
as her heels sink
into the wet grass.
She slips small holes
into its skin, still waking.
She smiles at the feeling,
as it gives.

Originally published by: Oddville Press Summer 2016

When a night is named

This is how I will keep you,
wrapped in Christmas lights.
Above me, you shiver like kite skin.
My young body is vanity
I thought I could be a home for anyone

But you, like light, are swelling
in a place I can't touch,
you are rolling like the shadow
of a cloud.

We are both, so completely
lost to me.

Originally published by: JONAH Magazine Summer 2016

Speartooth

I know your skin,
the bitten place behind
your knee. I know
from being peeled,
from being cleaned
in your small room,
moulding like pleated skirts,
a place I can fall to
when I need to be anyone.

Originally published by: JONAH Magazine Summer 2016

Taillights are temples in the ground

The plastic bag fills with rain
        like a body.
        the plastic bag like the latex glove.

The rain is too gentle for her.
        The wheel pulls.

On the side of the road,
        a red bumper smiles
        cut from a jack-o'-lantern.

The semis send up waves
        like whales.
        Whale whale whale
        whale.

Originally published by: LAROLA Summer 2016

Comedown

The air is stillborn
After the storm, it sticks
to skin. As I walk
the shadows of birds cross
between my feet like
sharks through milk.

Originally published by: LAROLA Summer 2016

Fingers through the trees

When seized, do not speak.
The sun strips you to what she knows,
and she knows heat.

Originally published by: LAROLA Summer 2016

You breathe out

Your body teaches you death today,
slowly, there is no enchantment
in your limbs, only pull.
And outside,
the heat you've lived with
your whole life, the kind
that's thick, still
like an ocean, kicks
at your windows.

Originally published by: LAROLA Summer 2016

White Fence Gang - Intrubide

If I can be here, I can be nowhere.
We play with our new toys, and I
love these girls, but I know
this is the same game as wives
who create a baby to feel full.
We can spit fire like fire was made for us,
we can move so smooth it is cruel
to watch our legs closing like
chinese fans, but in the end,
there are only two gods. You see,
I had a revelation. Last night, in bed
he was power and I was love, and he
was hungry for me.

Originally published by: The Blue Hour Spring 2015

I rise with my red hair

I have become woman
with many names. Many
of those gifts. From you,
I am victim, I am survivor
I am rise. The number of times
I have been angry,
could be counted in two cupped palms
The number of times I have bitten,
tremble.

Originally published by: The Blue Hour Spring 2015

The wooden floor

From the right angle, you can see
her footprints on the mopped floor
like language, or the shadow of eggs.

You think about tracing her steps,
her slow, small dance, but
the thought turns.

It is not your time,
your faith.

Originally published by: The Blue Hour Spring 2015

Hamsa

The towel is wet and warm.
I place it on my face and feel
my skin shift like old wood.
Like a prayer, I name
all the things I did not ask for.

Originally published by: The Missing Slate Spring 2015