the world has continued spinning just as you expected

but the crater was never filled up
with concrete for a parking lot
because what’s left of you still
glitters bright upon the earth
better than any tar and asphalt.

and we collect you from in between
cracks in the soil, our fingers
clinging to memories of your
scintillating laughter,
your brilliant mind.

our skin has renewed in the year since–
the wounds have scabbed over, peeling away.
we are all in some amount bigger,
our hearts accustomed to heaviness,
but you linger still in the wrinkles
of our palms and of our laughter.
each gentle word a testament to you,
we breathe continuously of your love.

dedicated to Alainee. your words still echo here.



like nettles pressed from beneath skin,
the hardening scab itches profusely.
cracks of soft pink flesh peer between
tectonic plates of scarring.
a slow metamorphosis, the gentle
pulsing of wings through a cocoon.

but the hands i let massage numbing
ointment into my scars have dug through veins.
i watch with empty eyes his careful
disassembly of my chest cavity
as if the pain was a routine blood drawing
and allowed nothing more than a wince.
my organs were then sterilized and
sutured and cauterized haphazardly in
a vain attempt at reparation.

weak and deformed, the flesh trembles
at the gentlest breeze.


the dawn peers over the horizon,
beginning its burning of mist
in a glow tinted orange.

orange like the salt lamp upon
the bedpost, a candlelight vigil
drenched by deep blue sheets and
sea foam irises.

the lovers’ flesh fused overnight,
harboring dewy eyelids and fresh
pulses of the heart. a finger
traces across the gully of a chest.
inseparable as the sun kisses
the horizon’s other shoulder.

soliloquy on the Centennial Garden

a palpable summer, superimposed
on an ashy cumulonimbus looming above
the horizon, scraping away at a glassy
menagerie of towers.
the sun eats at the white bloom. hot
rays licked, glazing skin to a
lukewarm red. we bask in its
consumption on a blanket of grass.

the earth untangles, sprawling towards
the sky. petrichor beckons for a balmy shower.


This poem used the words found on the Predictive program on my iPhone’s keyboard. Line breaks are of my own discretion.

the way we do this
we should try it out
because it makes me so sad
and we both are so different  

you are different from me
but i can tell you that you are
a beautiful person who can
be the best person to me 

i don’t like me but
that’s not a bad thing to me
because you know that
you are a good person to be 
the only one for me


summer in the city

moist heat on sidewalks
didn’t stop my walks around
aisles of picture books.

blue plastic pool filled
of mermaid dreams and wide seas
on concrete driveways.

six quarters meant wealth
in the form of a soft serve
by a singing van.

parks oozing with life,
games of tag and hide and seek,
refuge on a swing.

electric lightning bugs,
luminescent on my palms,
til dusk do us part.