a: Absent the moonfire; swallow nightjar mists; slice black circles to blind the stars; 1: twelve years past the recent double aught cloak the night in swaddling Nix; deaden the spider-limb oak ruling the backyard, its i found railtracks and eleven dead crows eldritch pigsnout legs snuffling, truffling; firecrisp the jungle grass. … Continue reading Making Lists (Poem)
In the October woods, the stones bleed and wheezelike hardened lungs. Listen—you can almost hearthe echoes of summer derechos singing rustic hymns in the rusting hills. I’ll tell you what I dreamed: sap of sugarmaples, the fiery smell of lightning. And in the woods, there wandered shadows, blind to each other, both calling … Continue reading Interrogative Moaning (poem)
And there was this. A ghost that slivered itself from between worlds, leapt out of the snowy wolfwind on a December midnight. Slipped between blocked basement walls like sight through a keyhole. It woke the sleeping boy, the terrified boy who couldn’t move, against whose face the ghost molded like wet clay over a form, … Continue reading My Wife and the Ghost (Poem)
Trees rust in the deep autumn like skeletal Chevrolets abandoned in the woods not far from where we are now. Listen — you can hear acorns falling from the sky like dead satellites, hitting the grass with the soft finality of a last breath. And the crows are ecstatic — they swarm the sunset in … Continue reading The Language of Moles (poem)
Like a lake we ripple and reflectand hold cold water in our chest. Like a town we elect and sprawl and wait for the fire to eat it all. Thanks to the editors of HALIBUT for including these selections from my poem "Eye to the Shadow."
Here the ghosts sip from jellyjar scotch and pace the shadows with my pale feet. This poem appears in Issue 2 of Molecule (a tiny lit mag). Thanks to Molecule editors Kevin Carey & M.P. Carver.
Promises slip like a tongue between teeth like a coin from a pocket to a gutter men with nickel-eyes drop stars into their mouths there is a wolf with stripes on its belly Men with bellies of nickel and iron howl like wolves at wolfmoons they speak strange and guttural secrets and swear the wolves are all deadGhosts slip on moonbeams and … Continue reading Wolves (poem)