I have influenza, and it blows
my fevered brain into mush miasma
that knows no more poetic thrust than
semi-sentient, trodden slush.
This viral infestation really sucks
all impetus to write into far space
where metaphor Continue reading
I have influenza, and it blows
my fevered brain into mush miasma
that knows no more poetic thrust than
semi-sentient, trodden slush.
This viral infestation really sucks
all impetus to write into far space
where metaphor Continue reading
I didn’t know what I had: she had
given me three very thin, almost dry
blades of grass shorter than my thumb.
Just before class. She blushed as she
opened the hotel envelope and showed me.
I reached under the fence at Graceland
I want you to have them. Her voice was soft
and rushed, Continue reading
inside, the soft
Skin seals us in so well that we believe
our souls are separate too: we go to war
in sport and to the death equally knowing
with a certainty as clear as open space
that conflict is our natural state and
friendship an illusion, ephemeral, unnatural.
Skin is good: we need it, but should not
believe it. In the cells in that skin, Continue reading →