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  • Poetry > Free Verse
    As though the arena of this page might release you I remove you of type, of the empty pen barrel, it would be blasphemous to act as though your self is of my own devising – you are too lovely to come from my imagination. Even as I write this I am weary of creating. Not the thinnest tend...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    All the good in me unlaced I pull what I own across the floor, books devoured to the spine, impressions the knees of my jeans have made of kneeling, my ghosts of ghosts, the saint who is namesake. I lay it out. A turtle can lay one hundred thirty-seven eggs in the hollows of trash-filled beach...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    Boy walks, nose-deep into small print of a yellow book, zig-zags down treacherous levels of stairs as if only his feet sense his whereabouts and ankle-up the kudzu, the other worlds enchanted anchor him. He reads as if studying atom splits, enamored with their sleepwalking between two being...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    There is going to be time to be webs, the starred weathervane, plenty of time to be bronze, or the machine that ruptures the picture into a puzzle, to be famine that coaxes angels out of their haze, so much time to be snail shells, lupine seeds, fragments of exoskeletons, examined and pinned...

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