here were girls who sank/ a thousand leagues beneath his hips/ and never bobbed back for air. I came ashore/ in a body of my own, crooked gate/ and piano fingers

A sky
like an enormous
Friedrich Nietzsche-looking
manhole cover
tries to explain your mind
to you.

i challenge my body/ wearing all white/ i lay down/ only to need to sit up/ i lay down i wish i was/ my own alarm

it is in the museum of three years/ that i hide dog teeth and seashells./ your semen in my belly button that/ i secretly finger in the grocery store/ milk aisle.

Tonight a boy goes to a field where he knows a horse has died.

I’m shoving fat candles into dirt,
blowtorching the wicks and tooting
horns.

I couldn’t render enough tallow
to properly honor... more

April

A cycle with seven edges
equals my dream of bicycle spokes
jutting towards the center
of an ice cream bowl. Don’t tell... more

You were dead: tiny birds of glass littered the road like jeweled confetti for a New Year’s bash.

Or more specifically its monster, long tail whisper in our swimming pool: in a valley girl’s mind. 

Dibs

In Chicago, we use dibs to take
ownership of what we will never own.
Traffic cones, rusted patio chairs, strollers,
a... more

He started as a single Clay Aiken, the one we all knew with the smiling face and aw-shucks demeanor

If this were paint it’d be asymptotic, red.

Too many toasties cut in quarters for Subway. Too many indemnity claims at Allstate.

If you’re wanting to write a poem that will appeal to the largest possible amount of people, you really can’t go wrong writing a poem about water.

we feel safe when we taste one another and we feel safest when our mouths are numb

believing in nothing
listening to jazz
cooking purple sprouting
rituals evoking
somelike
the aspirations
of the... more

please alert The

Paris Review that this wrenching November

is truly the cruelest month of all.

the drugs didn’t wear off,
the guy she wants to get in bed
                                doesn’t really care.

when she was 6 she’d never touch cigarettes,
                                but drugs made her slip

washing the wound
in beer and poetry

Yellow 1 & 2

I will no longer keep you; I will remember you yellow

you have a beautiful yellow
ache, a scarf made of heavy... more

There is not one song
in my YouTube 
favorites 
sad enough
to endure this night
wearing my khaki
work... more

the cat and i are watching HBO pretending time passes much faster than it does like how this guy has... more

For three days, I drive the city in search of PetCo. Day one, I tell myself that PetCo will be easy
to find. I don't... more

We turned off the game and drove to the mountains, a dead dog in the backseat