In the chill of sundown I clutcha caramel latte as ambulance lightsripple across black steellike an ill-kindled campfire.Ill-bundled, I watch the gurney’swheels race across the

Of course I galloped into this world on four legs.My hooves thundered in time with my mother’s heartbeat.Every time she craved a taco, I whinnied.

The sun goes down like a sealed wound:scarlet pressed into the canyoned sky.Tumbleweed clings to the slope,its dry ribs rasping in wind. You carry the

They say I inherited the moon in all the wrong ways— not soft, not silver, not saintly. They say I bruise the night just by

There was a year in Peru when the sky learned to burn. Not a metaphor— literal fire raining down in bursts, bank fronts blown open,

A dopamine rush of poorly placed semicolons,a saline flush to exit the daydreams formed by blue bloodshot eyes peeking above my glasses’ rim,flowing out of

My friend’s favorite pastime is gardening,mine is writing poems. I’ve told her I hate poems that begin with dreamsbecause no one really cares. After shaking

Listening to songs along the riverfrontno shoes, manicured yards, nothing to aila vessel filled with prospects one sheet of color vibrates across the skylinean agent

People lose some inhibition when the canopy of stars     mock their single wide below: such beauty staring with such pity.Paint chips at the same

When you decided you were going to do it, tucking the thick blankets in the creases of the doorframe, as if they too were your