Laika's Ghost

Published in Volume 14 of Foothill Journal

I scream in the dark expanse of void

clawing at my metal coffin

as the flames of Hell

lick my open wounds

and suck the air 

from my lungs

but I am no Lazarus

just a bitch too obedient

and preoccupied with

pleasing the men of my life

to notice the walls closing in

and that my silver necklace

was a leash and collar---

the kindness more cruel

because you were my Fate

choosing to cradle me

knowing you would cut

my lifeline anyway.

In space no one can hear you

yet on earth it echoes.

Morchellaceae Family Mausoleum

Published in Moss Puppy Magazine Issue 5: Whimsical Woodlands

Shadows glide

through moonlight

clasping bags of

hallowed idols.

Apprehensive,

steps on soft sod

and bypassed branches—

breeze through somber Pines

silent but for a

cacophonous symphony

of nothing in particular.

Grave robbers

spy another score—

a mausoleum of pest and decay

entangled in the twilight of

life and death with

spilled secrets of subsistence.

A trapped crypt—

doppelgangers to swindle the seekers

with imposters, filled

by the weight of despair—

but adepts won’t

be duped.

Robbers know their prize,

meaty thrills

soft and cold

with empty hearts

and narrow minds.

Predators know their territory,

—the necropolis—

every crypt pillaged

headstone overturned

and ever so carefully

sanctified.

The graveyard a family secret

kept for generations

desecrated and reconsecrated

spirits exorcized and resummoned.

Shadows glide

through moonlight

clasping bags of

hallowed idols,

eager to feast again.

Truffle Cabaret

Published in Moss Puppy Magazine Issue 5: Whimsical Woodlands

Ebony and ivory sirens

call between the Oaks

warbling a chorus of 

decaying decadence 

and earthy emanations.

Coyly covered by powdered

stain and fanned fronds

as mutts and swine

slobber for a peek.

A tease—

taunting,

entreating,

pleading,

to be bare.

Answer the call

exposing the meandering recesses

waiting, anticipating to melt

against your tongue.

As I Lay

Published in erato's Issue 01: Muse

With a line from Walt Whitman

The beat of your heart makes meter as blood flows and

my world is filled with your rhythm—as cells replicate your

body brims with slant rhymes made of your own very

soul forming a rhyme scheme that trembles the flesh

as order begets tempo which begets feelings as should 

I discern the profound meaning hidden in your cadence, be

holden to the musings on love and happiness as a

fisherman is indebted—drowned and fed—by a great

ocean in whose crashing waves all I hear is a poem.

grinded grit

Published in Wingless Dreamer's Dulce Poetica

armories filled to the brim with

battle-worn weapons ready for

retirement but still carefully shined,

kept sharp just in case the need

arises (and to keep my hands busy)

nose so close to the grindstone

the skin is raw and bleeding an

essence of self filling the abrasions

with a steely determination to hone

my edge until there is nothing left,

resolved to press on as I know

open wounds can only fester 

into scars if you let them heal

The Next Generation

Published in Garfield Lake Review's 2023 Issue

With a line from Michael Phillip’s ‘Mycorrhizal Planet’

Spores soar through the squall the

promise of danger and discovery—of new fungi

in a final frontier fuel the cosmonauts that are

primed for survival and, God willing,

a novel civilization began by one and

built for all to be prosperous like we

couldn’t imagine but must

try so that we may one day be

able to go boldly too.

On Infinites

Published in Garfield Lake Review's 2023 Issue

With a line from “A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” by Douglas Adams

In the city there are less stars looking

down at me and in turn I often don’t glance up

as I don’t have the time to gaze into

nothingness and wait for it to ogle back at the

sorry excuse for a star that lights up their night.

Not bright nor guiding I populate their sky

with infinites still—infinite possibilities for what is

and could have been, each day looking

duller as infinities turn finite and into

the twilight twinkles a different kind of infinity—

one greater than the immeasurable distance

between our stars and theirs that is

only definite after we are not—as incomprehensible

as the space between the cosmos and

as enigmatic as Big Bangs and their leftovers, and therefore

as esoteric as looking up is meaningless.

reaching event horizon in chicago, illinois

Published in Garfield Lake Review's 2023 Issue

up

    and

        away

from small town

to new horizons

blasting into unknown cosmos

to orbit celestial bodies and scorching stars

gripping tight memories of those left behind yet grasping for discoveries to be observed

desperate for a landing pad to call home again

attracted by the gravity

and a deep unknown 

burning fast

and low

on

fuel

To Sylvia

Published in Querencia Press's 2023 Winter Anthology

A response to Sylvia Plath’s ‘Mushrooms’

The door is wide open

and we spread on the wind, 

a certain disposition,

—Infectious.

Minuscule yet suffocating

a shroud of

traveling,

swaying,

drifting,

entropy.

So very tired,

yet there’s work to be done,

and so many of us!

How many of us?

Little or nothing,

voiceless, bland-mannered, 

we nudge and shove

in spite of ourselves.

I fear we won’t

see morning.

i am a star

Published in Garfield Lake Review's 2023 Issue

watch as I collapse

in on myself

a luminous body

filled with hot air

and nothing to say

crushed by the gravity

of all the decisions

yet to be made

and all the bodies

stuck in my orbit.