Tint of Sound
Poetry

Tint of Sound

Thunder, iron-hued, while a collection of dancing turns in field clearings. Alabaster breath, leaves pull west and fill. A look, melic. Morning billowing like sea smoke, the universe reflected in your bearing. I see who I will become by the way you favor talking with your eyes. By the heaving of bark and twig. We … Continue reading

Collaborating
All / Poetry

Collaborating

The last few months, I’ve had the pleasure of collaborating over some art with Chris Behnen (check out more of his films over at Pinstripe Productions). Take a look at his latest film below, titled “You and I,” which circles around the conceptual exploration of relationships. “Gather,” a poem I wrote to pair with the film, also centers … Continue reading

The Murmur
All / Poetry

The Murmur

It will be how they remember us. There is glass over dirt here, clouded over with the voices of ten thousand souls. I see straight through that window after a regular scan. In the white clearness of an afternoon, the blankly moving people walk around with their souls scraped clean. Half of themselves. We only … Continue reading

Drift
All / Poetry

Drift

Like a clot in the back of my mind, molasses leak, watery haze, I wade through an aurous-lit kitchen. Idle statues through windows, chalked, flushing vermilion in this early morning rise. We would lay our heads in the trees, under the heaviest of pillows, just to sleep. Mechlin lace folded, the wood table, a sweetness … Continue reading

The Valley
All / Poetry

The Valley

Streets, thudding with the beat of light, billowing pale, worn fires off the side of roads. A summit in the back, brown rain from prayer dust circling the hordes, their holy shawls. I left the black behind, worlds screaming with leftover souls. We hunt to feel a calypso pulse, anything like pressing water to our … Continue reading

Indian Winter.
Poetry

Indian Winter.

My heart beats in a circle, and I wait for the drum of grey in my chest cavity to hush and see. This is how we live our days, charging everything into light sockets while the bread turns black and the window sky outside dampens into a cold husk. I don’t want this to be … Continue reading

Poetry

Origin

We are them in many ways, named for past lovers, who fought each day with their spirits lit up in a flare of revel to keep it all close. (There is nothing new under the sun). I pay homage each time I see you in the hall and when I sit with my back to … Continue reading

All / Poetry

Terra Firma.

These vents of ocean that I seal up, often, are what’s made this room inside me dark and folded over. Smut steeps, clamped into shapes from my fist, and the light hue in the corner only catches at the golden cow when I watch carelessly. If I flip the latch and the metal inlet swings … Continue reading