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For a few/ vivid weeks, deciduous shrubs and trees/ will seem to glow like flames and embers

Promise to read me aloud.

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Slaughter of Ndebele; 1st Matabele War December 1893. The parable of Rainfall told of the day Bulawayo club rats swallowed our street and lost their way; of corners bent all the way back into nooks and crannies of…

Things Left to Chance No More

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In Memory of Janice RothWe know each other and then we don't because one of us is somewhere else forever. It takes so little time to tell you I'm glad you are only you being you without wanting anything from you. I wish you knew…


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It's true. I like to walk on the ceiling. But please. Don't hold it against me. The ceiling is cold. Nobody lives there. Just a spider. A curious arachnid. She lets herself down sometimes. If I'm on the bed, trying to sleep, staring at the ceiling, watching her…

White Room

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That night if you had asked what do you want? / I'd have answered by holy nightfall I want / to fill my mouth with your name while your lips / graze my bare skin like hidden cobwebs

Drainmen Ch. 7

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A hand touched my arm, the delicate wings of a medieval bird lost in the fields. Barely there. A suggestion of a thing more than a thing itself. A thing I didn't want to acknowledge. I was determined to ignore it. Keep my eyes wooden and unattached. But it touched me…

Into The Glue

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will i blow like a bubblegum venus, my lips a-twittering or malinger like a mylar balloon waiting for lightning in the rain with handfuls of purple lips hoping to run into you?