I like big-headed people,literally:those whose headsdon’t fit in default hats.I like a facethat could be turnedinto a statueby Medusa herselfand still be easilyidentifiable.I like a person who canstop what they’re doingand take a two and a half secondtime out. And I like the folkswho notice the dandelionsthat sprout under the roses,the folks who lean inreal closewhen I say I have somethingtinyin my hand. I like … Continue reading glimmers
When everyone whowas never locked upleaves, we talk in keys,coded melodies. We do swift talk,real talk. We don’t talk a thingaboutclosed doors. We talk likepassed kites.Make sky,break windowsif need be.If need be free. And why wouldn’t it? We are the speedand stillnessof ourcircumstances,raised likenumbers meant to bediscounted. When everyone whowas never locked upleaves, we talk in thecomplexityof count. Continue reading after
Prompt: Fiction. Ghost Tomato. A Comedian On his last breath,on his last day alone,a tomato appearson his nightstand. He tittersoff the stage. How many people does it take to build a tomato? The hungry man dreams himself fed,imagines a radiant orange-redtomato on the street.It is sheer in direct sight,vanishes in the sunlight.Still a treat. And this is the core of every nostalgia I find him … Continue reading four fictional fruit
I made up this namebecause I needed more room. I live on the coastand rent is too highto spread my wingsand the ocean airis too full of lost thingsfor a lost thing like meto explore alone.I like the seagullthat comes to my window tosing down the alleyand bounce as her voiceechoes up into the sky. It is a hideous songby most measures,but I tap my … Continue reading Rara Avis
My star-shaped holepuncher could fill anything with the absence of stars,and I sat outsidein the cold air: a pile of leaves, my punched canvases. I would let them take the wind when they needed to leaf. Art belongs to itself alone,and I was waiting up for Venus. When the twinkle in the sky became clearto carry a name with certainty,a bright white brighter than anything … Continue reading why the moon is a little smaller now than it was 30 years ago
“I bet you have a poem about mangoes, too.” I have three, my dear,and two about lipsticks stashed inside butts—and a few about pigeons—and one about a dead man’s ash on my fingers—(Would a lick be more sacred than washing my hands clean?) I have all the poems that this life has given me,and I have even written some down. They have all been a … Continue reading re:
My mind remembers how it loves the sun, but it plays the game of telephone when it talks to my body now. My mind says desert,my arms hear dizzy. My mind says orchid, my neck hears burn. My mind says lizardand my body hears melt, melt,melt. And the body wins, the body wears. On hot days like this,the space between my body and mind is … Continue reading aphasia residue
Today I stretched a poemso it would fit a screen*.I had to let the seams,hem the fray.Had to tell it not to fearthe shoot, or the way it might soundthrough a rifle. I cut it into strips,and lined those upto ask each piece:what else could you say? What else would you sayif you could? * I’m making a very very tiny film for a project, … Continue reading trust the process
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