by Poetry

on certain nights
when there was no hope
& all the radio stations played
Bela Lugosi’s Dead
on repeat
stretched out the chained drums
before the bats
I was fortunate enough to witness her
moonlight overwhelming as blues & shadows
rose across her skin or she descends
into it all willingly; plunging
like a cormorant in pursuit of her consumption until
I couldn’t tell
where the wet feathers ended
and her flesh began

she drowned so often in my arms
& the passenger seat of my car
& there were dreams of ancient
islands in her coughing; until she retched
and spat entire histories upon me

I learned all my mythologies from watching her
all the stories I would use
to convince her I was in her heart
while she considered life & death
& how much of the night
she could take into herself 
before she was overwhelmed
& released into bubbles
to break the still water
& disguise the murderous self-empire
beneath the surface

now some nights, I sit
by the water’s edge
and wait for the great bird
to erupt again,
joyous & triumphant
with a salmon-trout or some
other thing
caught in her lips

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modern poetry


gentle shores teasing infinity are
beautiful but they are not you
I think some part of you
resents that the idea
that I can unearth beauty


I think, tonight, I’m going to drink until I’m angry enough to fuck someone who isn’t me. I’m going to put songs that nobody knows on the jukebox and I’m the only one singing along to broken folk, rapist’s rap and Christian rock. And I’ll probably walk home alone,...

Pietà: A Poem

In numerous stolen night terrors, the blonde Venetian woman of the stars sits alone, a crowd of herself spread across a red and white dancefloor tablecloth. Bottles of vino make spirited advances and spear the air with alcohol intent and she dreams to breathe them in...


poets; happy to tell you
you have a broken smile
& they’ll keep you from splints
& medicines
so they can tell you over
& over again