publications

this then would be never ever after.
tremulous chortling and chattering, bird hands doing nothing,
nestled in a warm nest of lies.

i think it rolls off of you like smoke.
i think you see yourself
in everyone to whom you’ve ever spoke.

what is any of this
but pure and primal loneliness

.

i guess i’ll be seeing you
in dreams i sometimes do

(night mourning straight to morning-