I have two new poems up at Isacoustic. Everything is too much right now; and i am so grateful for poetry, which allows for close study of the replete, brimming intensity of life.
“majestic orifice right there
alate lion in the yard”
My poem, her story is your story is my story, was featured today on SWWIM
“…when criminal justice is criminal warfare and we are all under this rock heaving against it with our might intact…”
Celestite
The veinous interval
Sun splits the trees
The air becomes celestite
We are solvent
Finally
What now to do
but cook these skins
We won’t need them where we’re going
folly & carburetor
rap dogs of the sidewalk refrigerator
squeeze my carburetor
tire screech
ocean of car language
little voices from the hum
Saturday whining street music
we roll with it
a beam of folly and decay
skeletal longing
where are the roaring mouths & little feet
the spell of a dandelion whistling
rustle and rumble
each of us caught up
a splatter of constellations
the bottom sediments
if you let it
a whirlpool the normal tension
are we not living cells?
all the wild cultivars
and their babies
in a crystal sky-city
a whorl, a pith
a solitary action
We emancipate
“the woods found within this body”
-from Half of What They Carried Flew Away,
Andrea Rexilius*
my trust issues a clog
in my heart spell
small blisters
rainbow cuts
in the landscape
my leg undergrowths
spirochetes & chasms
having irregular hairs
in between breasts
my thunder belly
landslide
mortar, then –
the sticking nest of
desire for something
else not a marriage
not a lichen
though we did walk in
those woods
together for a time
All light melted
I was magma
Damaged tissue
Debriding
rose quartz
Aureole threshold
is totem
Three rosy smooth stones
Fibrous & generally stable in ultraviolet light
One is found or one finds oneself
Irradiation forms dusky hues
Rock crystal asterism
My terminal bud
In each hardness a prism or vein
A loathsome pustule
A bubblegum center
A dichroic future of bilateral symmetries
Our stars pulsing under the skin
In the Staff Break Room a Lone Foil Star Dances
There is no wind
no tremble
I sit here reeling
from life’s rapidity –
the days melt in a flurry
of job & family & email &
sex & tasks
how caught i am in this maelstrom
as if to stay alive
This ocean
This paroxysm
of waves breaking
How we wash
over each other
is enough
A Poet Librarian 
