I’m nowhere near finished with grading the poems when I lock up my room for the night. It’s almost eleven. Somewhere another door slams. The space between lockers swells with a draft whose source is unknown. It carries the scent…
All my life I tilled the fields by myself and nobody helped me. Your grandfather was always inventing ways to help someone else: he built houses, ran electricity, fixed power outages, took pictures, showed films, repaired TVs and radios, fixed…
I enter a room that isn’t ready for me It acts like I wasn’t even invited The jobless horse goes around No job No job No job Now that’s something to celebrate I find a sound chair & take it home
Don’t let them into your head.
Karma’s an elegantly disguised bitch these days, mon ami
When you were born,
Mom cussed the nurses.
The other kids told the teacher
She’s carving satanic symbols on her stuff.
Let’s grow up together
And forget to pay the rent.
When you kiss me, the distance peels
her fingers from the south,
shoves hemispheres into my mouth.
Let’s check our phones,