dates

"dates"

each streetlight cluster forms a

makeshift constellation.

our breath is illuminated under

marquis lights.

all i know is what i wanted to say.

spring creek, nevada pt.2

"spring creek, nevada pt.2"

we were lost underneath the bridge. spared

the grief and drank cheap whiskey.

old habits

die hard. you used to dance that gypsy dance,

twist your fingers in pagan arches to wave me

in. now i

pity the invitation. i wondered if she'd pray

to God as she cleaned off her skin, if she

had the same broken nails when the

landlord came in. the rain exploded

across the rooftops and pedestrians;

i was pining for a desert baptism.

spring creek, nevada

"spring creek, nevada"

water drips from the tin roof houses and

spreads out upon the window sill. we saw

your mother crawling on the back porch

tracing the nails in the floorboards. more

at home in a wooden box, her movements

are more silent now.

hands together we walked out in the storm

making a break for the river. i spent time

digesting the lines of your legs, the

bend in your hips. our skin takes

the shape of an intimate secret.

n/a

Midwestern Black, soon to be a band.

State poem soon. Really soon.

n/a

Might or might not start a music blog. We'll see.

lapse

"lapse"

dogs with crooked teeth lick

their matted fur becoming intimate figures of

displaced harmony and pregnant dreams.

farmers attempt to disguise their transgressions

in honest work and poor brown soil. they stand

alone in the habit of summarizing years. time

slips between rough hands and rotting fields of

wheat.

departures

“departures”

dead fields of corn surround the city and

it takes time to rest your hands. winter

cold gripping the legs of teenage boys and

girls and tossing them into broken homes. old

grey skies mix the past, present, and future

into one cohesive display of

lifelessness. heroes with rifles and flags

rust on the outskirts of town. no one talks,

no one comes

out.