Saltwind; When You Come Home

Saltwind Saltwind is like acidburn in the nose and throat. but feels cold in your stomach like rain in the breeze of an August day that is just warm enough to make you forget what page it is on the calendar. When you’ve realized,...

Blue

Weeping indigo seeps across your skin in needle-pricked ink. His anger spills over the page; he cannot hear your voice. You try watercolour comfort. I find blue in your words, your bruised tongue lying peacefully. Forget-me-not kiss bleeding indigo into me. You’ve...

What Art Thou To Me

To be honest, I may not be much better than an insect, masturbating while my son cries himself to sleep. What art Thou to me? Twists of cirro -stratus, wisps and twists, a string of geese unraveling below the moon’s better half, nothing stationary. You cut in and out,...

Said to Godhead: Poems

#44 Jockstrap my ego, that fragile package of antique ambitions that never got sent. At a certain age, we are who we are going to be. You must feel that way about the entirety of the whole enterprise, creator of all-for-naught. Sure, as a species we’re taller now than...

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