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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
Published in Querencia Press's 2023 Winter Anthology
I’ve been meaning to ask my therapist;
Can you give your gut biome an eating disorder?
Or does the DSM-5 only diagnose planets and not its citizens?
If my microbes influence
my thoughts
my hopes
my dreams
am I off the hook for
all the times I
fucked it up?
Or are we both responsible
for every misstep
bad joke
late flight
a Pincer Maneuver
towards regrets
and hurt feelings?
In a positively negative feedback loop
of predetermined pain
we have survived
in spite of the combined effort of
my ancestors
my forefathers
my microbes
myself
with a short lifetime of accolades.
A Nobel prize in PTSD with
a certificate in anxiety
and a double major
in executive dysfunction
and disordered eating
with a perfect four point GPA
Don’t you know?
Generational trauma transplanted
across species
across bloodlines
across lifetimes
is an academic achievement
your parents can be proud of.
Published in Last Leaves Issue 6: Hunger
O Thee of infinites,
I lay at Thy altar
an ordinary offering of
celestial citruses
golden like a dawn
tender as a breast
sickeningly sweet
that I vowed to eat
yet abandoned.
Praise Thee!
Praise Thee!
O Thee of infinites,
I lay at Thy altar
ye heel of bread
crippled crumbs
coarse and crusty
humbly begging
for deliverance
from the depths
of the drawer.
Holy!
Holy!
O Thee of infinites,
I lay at Thy altar
ancient lasagna
a relic of time past
that was agreeable
but worse revisited
in a clouded Tupperware tomb
so as to suppress the sin
of the —Cheese? Meat?
O Friend Unseen!
O Friend Unseen!
O Thee of infinites,
I lay at Thy altar
and I praise Thee,
for your omnipotence
and conviction ensure
I take the trash out.
Amen!
Published in Last Leaves Issue 6: Hunger
I hold my keys between my fingers
while I baptize myself in the holy waters
of the public bathroom someone was
too stupid or too saintly to keep locked.
Trash can wedged against the door to
keep other potential venerators away
as soap forms clouds and fluorescent
lights make hazy halos in my vision.
A knock at the door—confession time—
both real and imagined sins despite
my resemblance of Mary not Judas
no divine absolution will be granted.
With my makeshift rosary I pray
the Roman soldier will withdraw,
letting me rest in my manger
and nurse my original sin.
Published in the Tales from the Deep anthology
Don’t you know? Your smile is an undertow
serene on the surface, hiding my demise.
Yet I freedive in—the danger worth the prize—
gripping a burden to carry me below,
soon made breathless but afraid to let go,
sink deeper and deeper into your grotto.
Despite your deceit, imagine my surprise
when my chest is choked with your drawn-out deathblow.
“This time I’m prepared,” I promise as I dive,
bearing a deep sea suit and a lengthy line,
dropping my burden, confident to arrive,
devoutly pay respects to your secret shrine.
The disloyal current on my cord entwines
leaving me suffocated in your divine.