Rags to Riches

How simple it must be, the life of a rock ignoring the pulse of the tick and the tock forgetting which dirty magazine it took to read in bed in lieu of a book. A rock with no shoes, no sandal, nor boot Not even a rambling foot— Like an artist, it has no need... Continue Reading →


‘You go behind the sea and bring light also to the underworld,’ declaring, ‘Behold! this cup wants to be empty again.’ But you are the one who is empty, A tepid ‘hybrid of plant and ghost’ ‘a worm’ wrangling with a rope. ‘Nothing is more vengeful than your meekness.’

Ode to Lipstick

How radiant, your Lustering lips which pour sweet moonlight onto our eyes for better seeing. How sharp and well observed, your Cupid’s peak distinct— not quite Angel, not quite Diva— a little Flirty & Perky Pink never hurt anybody. Your Love Test suggests Red Rock. The right to say, Viva Glam! was all you ever... Continue Reading →

Limpia la Ropa

In the laundromat you read books and listen to Chopin. On both tv’s the same show is playing at slightly different times, which is why you try not to forget your headphones. The machines are half dead and the dryers only run on high or low. It's nighttime, so the air is sticky, and the... Continue Reading →

Sidewalk Chalk

i. Every Thursday afternoon I watch you play the playground. You climb the bars and twist the swings singing pop songs with mostly your own words.   ii. Last Thursday, I brought a box of sidewalk chalk and we bent our necks making a blue and orange mandala. You had never known that these were... Continue Reading →

Brown Eyes

I like to watch your eye twitch watch your nose bleed, watch your cat drink, and when I watch you I think of molasses, sweet and bitter, how once you told me about molasses cookies on Sundays like cartoons your eye twitching again as you look into my eyes and ask is there silence underwater?

Argentine Tea Time

iced passion tango you and me, querido little here, little there your claws around my jugular black and white stiletto wrapped around your ego we dance the dance not saying much we're doing what we know and me, a tea cup, spitting into your mouth, which only swallows

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