When the driver came forward it was Death himself kindly stopping a little too late and spilling his beer when he hit you head-on…

I had no idea I could bleed like that. All that blood I wasted from my foot on a sliver of the salsa jar I didn't break.

In the halls of old text messages, / you avoid last night / like lingering campfire heat / over the cold eggs of morning.

I am seventeen and the world is a shell / Walking the interstate with my dry hand in hers / Sky arid above us, acres of absence aching / Like a scar.

Bradford walked into the office with his head cocked severely to the side, holding his thin phone in place. "Yes . . . yes. Okay. I'll look the minute I sit down."

It takes journalists, directed to the site, / three hours to hike, in sunlight, brush covered / trail, a rocky terrain

I practice punching / at the kitchen table / on the couch / in my sleep / I make a fist

APOLOGIES WERE BOUND TO BE MADE, even if they didn’t need to be.

going to spell h.o.m.e. like koolaid red and slippery but not / pulsing or heart in palm or the rat tat / of flesh against wall

Remarkable this mother-body. / Its cervix having ripened twice / and now its uterus removed. / Doorway to nowhere.

When it cries it’s not a weep / but a cracking high pitched / slow controlled

this 互相傷害 / this reciprocal torture / bird brain / if you have this idea, i can, too

The nosedive into oblivion / sweeps through me like a white sea carnival / rips through a sleepy town

Clocking in at just twenty-six minutes, this silent black and white film was the only film ever directed by Genet…

The calculus of heaven / is y approaching infinity, / and when you graph it / it rises in a line

I’m not as old as the painters would have it / I’m ageless in this age of monsters.

Not because he’s overweight, although he is. Nor because of the disgust he would feel stepping into the elevator…

Monster’s skin is replaced / it’s not the confusing shade of brownish red that says he could be anything / but white.

Fresh fallen snow: A photograph of a painting is what you / show me, it glitters strangely and is obscured / by thumbs

anti-greta stands in grim resignation. she buries her metal straw and reusable tote with her own hands, shoveling fistfuls of dirt over the metal and canvas until they have sunk back to the earth.