Poems

We Stood on Our Toes

We stood on our toes

in the doorway.

The light shone outside,

begging at your feet

like a child.

But a cold woman,

speaking out of turn,

messes it up.

We start all over.

She may be wise,

and we should listen—

but who would, ever?

Drinking Tea

I wish god let me choose the muses

after all, I love the rain

the grass must feel grateful

so humble

oh, and the hummingbird!

the hummingbird loves the rain too

Preppy

I just wanted to be quiet

Say enough and enjoy my fruit

I felt like a ghost

Sat next to preppy furniture

and paintings of ducks

I have never wanted to make eye contact

How useless

Looking up and away

from a stranger

Coffee for Dessert

So lovingly, madly,

So hopeless and violent,

They march in

New clothes and old history.

"What bread are they serving

at the 1916 dinner in a St Louis sewer?"

"More importantly,

are the angel cake kisses

as good as they sound?"

"Coffee for dessert is sinful."

Elton John is wearing a sheriff's badge

so he doesn't have to talk

to all the aldermen

and the bartender serving Charles Miller

untitled noir poem

Ah, your quiet misdirection,

So rich, and unassuming,

Pressing for facts

Pressed for time

He might die for you,

Ah, you’re subtle correction

So telling, listen to tone

But I suggest you tell him

About the stain on his tie

And confront his wormy charisma

It is just the loudest

in the room

Confit de Canard

As I expected! I'm living a french life.

All their names stapled to my head,

a crown of flowers on my head,

feet leaving a trail of mist,

while I traipse down Market Street.

Tough on Crime

Did you think I was funny?

Did you really think I was smart?

Was that laugh real? It sounded so nice

to be tough on crime, and sweet to

forgive the children

Instead, a coyote smiles through grain-like bodies

Swaying to and fro, swaying through my view

Your Soul

Your soul

would look like a dark-stained rosewood

smell like an orange rind

and basil

It would break all the rules of physics

(as souls sometimes do)

It would disappear for days

and come back tired with unwrapped gifts

saying only,

"Dlya vas,"

As it only speaks Russian for some reason

Butterflies

the butterfly enjoys its wispy flight in the sun

it's faerie-like wings cumbersome on its tiny body

pulled to the scent of flowers

your lover left treasure on the dandelion

and fell into the grass

the world is fruit

the way I can think backwards

remembering the promise to never forget

the warmth of fire in a snowy sun-drenched grove

Paradise

We are in the garden of Eden

And the fruit of the tree is tangerines

with my head in her lap

Tangerine, grape, and wheat dripping down my lip

It is so selfish to ask God to own just one thing

One teensy little beautiful thing, and yet,

I'm on my knees

Do the Dead Wander?

There was a moment, when you entered through

That you knew the ants prattling on the ground

You knew to follow them to the fruit,

Foxes, an eye in the sky boring in,

The ones that eat carcasses like gods

Smelling the perfumed corpse smoke

In the hall of the heavens

dumb as ever

And confused by the chorus of air

And earth, for a moment you’re still the

Unblessed Hand grabbing the sword

What the Daisies Said to Sarah

“You have plenty of time,”

the daisies said to Sarah.

“We’ve seen much worse.”

This steeple, tall spires—

romance made gothic

by vines threading through stained glass.

They come in reds, greens, and blues,

squares, ovals, and rectangles.

Once in the morning,

again in the evening.

“You’re gorgeous,”

I told her,

“I fell in love with you

by the reddest roses

in Pompeii.”

They come all in black:

sons, daughters, brothers, sisters,

holding daisies

If I could have you forever,

I would.

But the daisies would miss her.