Category Archives: Poetry
Under the Tracks
Poppies in the rear view mirror. I look back, and I imagine what I remember. Red blossoms across a white shirt, a white throat. Flanders Fields, for an army of angels who had no wings and no idea but plenty … Continue reading
I’m too cold
and I have nothing left to give I have nothing left in me I am nothing left I hope tomorrow is better than tonight but if I go to bed, oh god what happens if I go to bed and … Continue reading
Nothing like a crush
I’ve got a thing for her. Not because he wants her. Not because she wants him. Not because she’s bigger, better, prettier than me, but because she’s gorgeous, all on her own. Because she knows how to dance and how … Continue reading
Cute, quaint, and perhaps a bit country
The smile of the angel is torture and rapture. The kiss of the whore is always the same. Is it any wonder we expect our pleasure to come with a measure of delirious pain?
To Be Memorable
If I cut away this flesh and I strip away this voice and I reduce myself to the nothing but 1s and 0s that will ultimately be left behind, I am not entirely sure I see enough of anything to … Continue reading