Friday night reading: Dance, What’s Left, and Chemistry
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No One Here But Us Poets
I hope that if you spark the nerve to speak your meaningful words that you are shaking voice to toes on a stage in front poets. ***** When I am…
Annual Day of Mourning
Today is the 19-year anniversary of my brother’s death near Baghdad, Iraq. After 9/11, I had feared his deployment to a war zone. I wrote the following poem when he…
First Kiss
She tastes like marijuana and cabernet; it’s how she self-medicates her lore, who she was before; she rips this moment ablaze and pulls me sulfur-sparking all the way further into…
Drunk on His Poetry
His word-fingers slip my buttons from their slots, those intentional letters sparkle my spots and crevices. My mind sips his thoughts, my heart disintegrates, melts wetter into the dots of…
No Medication
Sometimes, I die inside because people I love are there. There’s no solution, no medication to tighten tear ducts or lighten the aches, no erasers for the sharp lines and…
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