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  • “Name your torture,”
    one of them said
    with a wink.

    I wanted an orchard
    but I swallowed the vodka
    he handed me
    willingly.

    “The Gorge”

  • I did it.
    I built an empire and let myself rise with it.


    generally, I go against my best intentions
    for sport. learned how to read maps by getting lost i
    in the woods. thirsty, right leg numb,
    shoulders could be fried from sun
    or luggage and
    It’s not death I am  afraid
    but  of  re-emergence.

  • “I have no future plans,”
    I begin calmly. 

    I am arms outstretched
    walking nowhere but with ardency
    so im labeled
    whimsical and  manic.

    I hear in a distance, someone repeat it:
          You use intimidation as a tactic
          to seize opportunity,

       well,

    I am blessed with delusive lips
    and I also use black magic.

    “seven of cups”

  •   “I have no future plans,”
    I begin calmly.

    I am arms outstretched
    walking nowhere but with
    ardency so  I am labeled:
    whimsical and manic,
    a troubled woman
    not to marry and
    like a wound up
    fairy, the character that
    keeps the music box
    spinning.


    until it’s boring:
    the repetition,
    the posing,
    the pink smile and
    matching slippers
    leaping from her
    gold coiled post
    growing nerves and
    ankles that bend flat
    to walk to
    run. to crawl.

    people like me because
    I have no plans,
    am honest about it,
    resplendent teeth when
    writing sonnets to the men
    and a sense of fury when
    reflecting on affairs.
    I’m big,
    and have wings that
    carry weapons. 
      I hear in a distance  someone repeat it
          you use intimidation as a tactic
          to seize opportunity
              well,

    I am blessed with delusive lips
    and I also use black magic.

    “seven of cups”

  • in Boulder,  it was called “Unity.”
    I was invited once by a girlfriend
    and stayed.
    we talked a lot about
    life and mysticism,
    the way currents showed up
    for us at the right time
    and I wish I had documented more.
    like the Gratitude meeting,
    I stayed with groups that forced
    everyone to share.
    they went in a circle.

    I sat among them, mostly
    men, always mostly men:
    young this time.

    I once remember sharing
    how manipulation used to serve me
    and a guy that I had reached
    out to about death,
    because my brother had just passed.
    made eyes at  someone.
    I was still waiting for his response.
    tuck the errant hair
    and look around
    stopping at no one in particular.

    at the risk of being
    labeled calculating, I still
    liked being seen. 

    “unity”

  • .

    at the risk of being
    labeled calculating, I still
    like being seen. 

  • all day long

    I vacillate between intention

    and immediate withdrawal;

    my habits, my beloved

    hermeticism and the double meaning of

    everything.  I’m

    ambivalent about every choice

    I’ve given myself.

    even in completion,

    I shrug.

    let the wind take me.

    “ January”

  • “I know he meant it to be kind,
    as if to say honey, restraint wears
    you well.    “

    kelly grace Thomas, Boat Burned

  • I keep you in my palm.

    I keep you in my fist;
    squeeze you in my
    palm and write my
    name with fingerprints.

    dotted drips like lines on highways,
    designs with influence:
    personal meaning
    but lazy.
    afterthoughts marked with

    drops of you

    you say:

         afterthought?

    you built a town and

    stuffed me in it.

    my coltish way I fidget next

    to you on the bench.

    lick my dry lips

    without looking up and

    pull the hem slowly

    with my stubbed, teal nails

    to point to the tattoo of

    the north star on my leg;

    it’s black, sharp and fresh.

    and

    boy

    you

    better

    run.

    “The gauntlet”

  • “love?”
    flick the ash to my  right side
    ive taken up spliff again.

    I’m walking the block with
    my syncopated thoughts.
    the beat is long chord
    & repetitive.
    there’s a specter of a man
    in my headphones
    at all time and today he wants
    to know what he means to me.
    I tell him.
    “I want love
    unencumbered
    by actuality.”


  •  you never ask about my mornings
    or daydreams; just
    twirl the edge of your Merit
    between your thumb
    and pointer and
    go back to ignoring that
    there are years of stance
    between us.

        ( it’s just one breath)

    look at me with
    masked inconsequence,
    a cold front and
    lick whatever sugar is stuck to
    my teeth.
    go back to your lighter.

    go back to your quiet
    preoccupations, your
    mundane wardrobe.
    go back to your opinion
    that my anarchy
    is the danger of the couple,
    not your ability to
    wrap your fist around a throat
    without a safety word first.

    and love?
    I want this thing gone. 

    it’s rent I have to worry about
    most.

    “Staid”

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