You harness the light like the love of a good horse, your word is law among the stars and the sand, patron saint of all things misunderstood in the daytime.
She’s gone. Stop knocking.
What did I do today.
I walked through Costco
dissociated,
watching a woman who looked like me
push a cart
like this is the world.
Like this is what we’re
His unbuttoned shirt, his summer breakfast. The gesture of his mouth was the opening of unsaid words.
The gigolos texted me back while my mom and I watched Zootopia 2
Fury Psalm 6:
Let there be a God, an earth, seasons weathered through a time
for this, for that, for breathing and for holding one’s breath.
Let there be seasons when the moon has nothing to be
Lie here with me, if only for a while.
Love is like a museum. You have to look around, experience things, and then leave.
"[Her Lesser Work] is a collection of mordant and formally inventive stories circling themes of, let’s say, desire and escape within repressive structures."
-Walker Caplan, Literary Hub
