The Fig Tree
I had never been to India.
A Coming Out Poem that Ends in Joy
She tells me she saw a mama deer / birth twin fawns last week
First Things 1:1-8
Every step toward comprehension was a mistake / or every mistake a step.
Without Blue
If I see a mirror / in this poem, the mirror, like everything, / turns into blue mother.
Today is the night
I buy black clothes / to prepare for the life yet to live
upstage center: dead boy
(literal organ music)
First Things 1:1-8
You think we all want to sink and we do / back down from the current.
Cicek
a sambal of shadows flavors a gallows’ human haul
June Sucker
a data-lag will add to a doom motif