Poem — Such a waste of a girl such rumination I am obsessive I contain nothing but the replay I am blood and blood and replay I think to escape in general terms but I have no plan no language no language for the plan. A death wish I will never admit to, a death wish like a tease from…

Poem — I didn’t kill myself when things went wrong I didn’t turn to drugs or teaching I tried to sleep but when I couldn’t sleep I learned to write I learned to write what might be read on nights like this by one like me. — Leonard Cohen That anything could…

Poem — Things to do instead of being on your phone at night begins one headline, as if to tell you that you don’t deserve it, that you haven’t earned this escape. Suddenly, it’s the longest night of the year, and sitting in bed by yourself feels so close to drowning. Know it’s for the better; in the morning, they’ll pronounce you more rested…

Poem — This is the prelude to suffering a flash of shadow between her legs a hand, a promise, a lie if you want honesty you can’t have her word but you can have her silence summer’s long gone now but she still remembers its dreams the ones she fought sitting down and doing nothing thigh and tongue not to be known outside it it is night and she’s…

Poem — everything dark and doorless the flicker of an eye if i slow down, it slows down if i run, it runs we have all been the one who walks this corridor what we wanted was never innocently wanted memories reach out of walls and drag me by my hair even after i…

Attempt at genealogy — apricity: the warmth of the sun in winter As a child I discover bullet holes talk to me from the walls. On the other side, the riffles never fall silent, my mother turns to her mother endlessly through that void. The void has settled at the pit of my stomach. I know…

Poem — In the calendar storm I circled a day and tried to hold on. I love you like that. There is no surface, no scene. Everything is in the interior. (Look for me I’m hidden I’m lost find me.) The most beautiful part of my body is that I let it be kind to you. This is…

Poem — It begins with the little girl or boy raising their arms, to which the man or woman doesn’t know how to respond. It begins with feeling guilty about something serious, with the ground on which you saw your figure darken for the first time. It taught you about shadows. Not…

Poem — The last one to believe in letting go at the moment of telling, embracing the ground in this poem I’m writing, either the place of fusion or demolition, A trap to say a name forever. Each day the walls get more naked: I cannot describe absence, not with words made with deteriorated…