poem: James Dean and the Savages

now that he is gone the dreams and the sex and the writing are all pathetic. she was going to change the world with poetry; she had such plans.   but he left the room in a red jacket; she is listening to Marina and The Diamonds.   In the end, she is the one…

poem: river flows in you (three steps for love)

i wrote a manual last november: how to fall in love, three easy steps. first, be a ghost, be silent and secret: your lips so dusty that even coughing cracks a new breath. then wait for a boy to uncork into greying Fall days, his eyes splashing wine, his voice nervous and young; while you,…

poem: last November was seeped through with color

sitting, now, on the other side and looking back through the blue-green sheen of November in Love, I am unhinged and wet, the wine running deep rosé over my virgin hands, my soiled head.   he would come to me out of the rain, out of the dark, shaking mythos from the curling damp parts,…

poem: almost song lyrics. almost.

i burned my tongue on late november last year, we were still together. and now, lonely girls sit under fake blue moons, twisting their lives into small categories: the before and the after. hey, don't think it's romantic just because of the lo-fi coffee sounds. last year, we were bold and defiant: miniature buddhas bounced…

poem: nostalgia, not contrived

the girl sat in her english class and watched the sky flatten itself against the university window, like even the clouds are desperate to get in and learn critical theory. she pulls her sweater over her fingers and silently sulkily puts an earbud in so she can listen to japanese indie and feel like a…

poem: midnight in the dream city

she stood lazily in the shower, watching the drain grow fat with the leftover dreams that come off her like dead skin. she and her friends will go out tomorrow, and make castles out of shotglasses and then knock them over.   when she was younger she walked through fields in a red raincoat amazed…

poem: portrait of a lady, january 2019

pine tree hands make ginger kisses. they are better than the crowd of girls: nice, but all emotional. the boys carry rocks on their heads and in their eyes; the girl tuck the rocks into athletic bags and into breasts. she is with the boys, competing, the rocks split open to Intelligence and Intellect, and…

poem: the fiction, after

i intend to make the most of this heartbreak and to see your shadowed face slipping by in every man who walks briskly through the rain and to see you in every false memory and to see you laying naked next to me with our hands between the cigarette smoke and then later the door…