In an area of high winds and strong convictions, I have lived among the ever-changing crowd that is always the same. I must have died overnight, and now my wings are flapping in my own face. I used to be an owl, a night owl, to be sure

TW: Self-harm. I wanted to write a mental health essay that wasn't all rah! rah! and with as little sentimentality as possible. Out of everything I've published, I've gotten the most feedback from this--people telling me it helped them understand a loved one better, etc.…

The trick rider arches

So this has led again to my hunger over you, the lion of all people, the other I, pertaining to voice, speech, perception. I knew right away how you rose up inside me, how I could fly near your ceiling. Right away could feel the tide, rising and swollen

With furrowed brow, he took the plastic stems and began to beat the blossom ends against the black brick wall.

Her through the phone line, a pause, a hold in her voice. Mom. The things we miss as adults, the turns of phrase, the little pauses. The in between of conversations are opportunities are avenues, five lane highways where we can be…

Wound up taking smiling lessons Six days in a row But they didn’t take All the people in my class They were so fake

From 'Excelsior' (fifth section) - a poem in 9 parts. So this is what begins at thirty? Thirty-five, And waiting. Those make love with water mildly, they That sink and skim the tide's meridian fingers: Brown swans that bob the blue orb's plumbing sheer. So this has…

You may want to know who wrote the book of love, but all I really want to know is who, who sprayed the dinosaurs with graffiti? Not some poser Not some Svengali Not some last minute giraffe Not someone from the all girl’s band kn

She's a woman who travels often. Maybe for work. Maybe for mischief. She's a "free spirit" trapped by her desire for love. But she numbs it with the warmth of a new man's touch. She leaves herself reminders that often fail her or remain inconsistent. She wants to…

made of meat and born to breed

Let's go now with those precisely marching shiny cloud band members, so eagerly clanging their golden sleeves togetherover there in the valley of new light, for instance. They can lift wholeoceans up, like baby children, for a seriesof smooches, all of…

a distinct hardness that translates into solidity, and a lightness that translates into beauty, and I thought I’d find you there,

I didn't much care for the graveyard anymore now that so many people I knew where layin' in it.

I’m living at the Edge of Graffiti And yet I still survive Because I walked across the line Separating me from the rest of mankind You can see me out here I’m in so much pain All that’s written on my face I think it’s pretty plain