The Old Lady and the House
Abandon |The Woven Child
Conjure: Daughter | Assimilation Bouquet | Jesus | Han
Why My Poems Arrive Wearing Black Gloves | The Roses | Why My Poems End on Fire | Dear X
PERSON. | PERSON. | PERSON.
Self-portraits With Tyrannical Consistency | The World Uncontrollably Slides Into Bizarre And Grotesque Derangement | Ode To The Exit Sign
Verses Out of the Vortex(t): Climate Vortex | Verses Out of the Vortex(t): Wildfire Vortex | Verses Out of the Vortex(t): Water Vortex
Activation in the Midst of a Massacre | Beautiful Door
Because the Color Is Half the Taste | God Stops By | Normal Everyday Creatures
I’m the first to emerge from the pink ice, though it was supposed to happen at the same time . . .
The children, not knowing there was anything wrong with snow in July, got out their galoshes. On their sleds they screamed down Murder Hill, as they called it . . .
Her name was Casey Krupke and she was a 24-year-old waitress at Roy’s. The air conditioning at her house in Canoga Park had gone out . . .
My husband can’t keep a steady job, so instead I grow inordinately fond of his ambient sound collages. Since he will not, I eventually try to sell them on his behalf . . .
It is around 10 p.m., our usual bedtime, but we both know that we will be up at midnight, and then again at 5 a.m. . .
Blue glint on the train track’s steel rail, half-demolished building, sunset over an alfalfa field. Every single thing a brilliance. The skin of the world I am hungry for . . .