Poems
“One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.”
― Jack Kerouac
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peeling back layers of purple onion she weeps Read more
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Morning in History Park where you once walked upright, smelling of suspicions. Read more
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She sweeps evening dust off grout lines with the straw broom Read more
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I want all your Sundays— naked on the sofa Sundays Read more
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On the last train from the city, she sat across the aisle and talked about sex-having saints. Read more
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four years the only control I’m allowed is my breath Read more
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the one made up of consonants and super hero punches Read more
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a dispassionate rain sprinkles colors onto glassy morning tracks Read more
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silvery faces the color of molt skin odors tasting of rice wine and warm dish towels Read more
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I go on holiday to where the Other lives. Read more
sounds & silences 