from You don’t want what I’ve got (Junction Books, 2018):
I don’t want anyone walking
on eggshells around me.
This body a thumb drive, waiting
to be plugged in.
Don’t rush me.
An inattentive landlord. Strained
relationships with our mothers. An everyday
sound, like ohhhhh.
I’m tired of being just a pair of eyes.
The freckles are slowly turning
to moles; the canker sores arrive.
The baseboards of the world cannot contain us.
We’ve turned into hummingbirds
—die if we stop moving.
Present compulsions: opening (and closing)
the mailbox; wiping the coffee table with Murphy’s Oil;
eating chick peas directly from the can.
Dare me to make a chart of it.
I will not judge the universe.
from Histories Haunt Us (Nightwood Editions, 2010):
“Self-Portrait As Someone You Might Like To Meet”
Because I like to arrange pills in patterns
before I take them.
Because there are no elephants here.
Because I’ve mentioned elephants.
I was broken–I’ll say it plain
and that’s what you’ll like,
the plainness, smooth
face, pop of blue in the eye.
I read ’til I was green again
(new and ill and envious).
It didn’t work but I kept going.
The words weren’t enough
and neither is this.