The flower that the
bumblebee forgot
the nectar that the
butterfly forsook
the moth drinks from
them in the dark.
Sitting on your porch at night
you turn on your lantern.
Moths fly towards the light
confused and
bumping and buzzing around.
This is not a flower
this is not a slice of the moon
this does not smell like home.
Please, just turn it off,
get up, and go inside.
Lay yourself down to sleep.
The moths have work to do.
How do I begin, begin, begin
be in the right mindset, mindset, mindset
settle wearied pens against paper, paper, paper
perhaps instead type out this idea, idea, idea
and elaborate enough, enough, enough
for it to resonate, resonate, resonate . . . ?
tangerine tango
the color ascribed by Pantone
a rose bush which caught my eye
coral, therefore not red or pink
different, vibrant, perfectly summer
reminders of what could be if we’d take the time
if we could escape what doesn’t matter
yield to ourselves
break free
illumine
beware of the baby!
cries so loud they wake the dead
razor like jaws while they’re teething
diapers so dirty they stink up the bed
beware of the toddler!
tiny feet run so fast
body so small can eat so much
tantrums now seem to infinitely last
beware of the kindergartner!
sight words
best friends
energy for days
beware of the pre teen!
…need i say more
In Memory of you and your concert on finding your program in a book
The harmonious sound
of showy notes
float my memory
to -40 below cold
Life warms us, warns us
dies harmonious
of memory
of freezing nights
in Russell Hall
Where students perform
to warm our souls
and prompt lyrics
of preludes and fugues
of lament and farewell
A doe rests after
her labor, while two
fawns teeter nearby. She
licks her young whenever
they bury their heads
into her stomach
to nurse, licks whatever
she can reach, which is
usually one of their
butts. She licks compulsively
across the animal kingdom,
this mother, licks birth
from the fur, licks
dirt from the eyes.
A mother laps at
a wound, saliva soothing
pain and clotting blood.
A mom licks her thumb
to clean dirty cheeks,
lay flat unruly hair.
When I was young,
my mom’s tongue swiped
ice cream from my cone
to protect my shirt
and, more likely, steal
something sweet for herself.
Forgive us, Freya:
our greatest enemies feast on our own fears: fault-
lines. That freewill transfixed as it falters on
a focus for Friday,
or whatever hour frees us: off
the clock.
Even fathers get few field days–
come far, feelings fragile as peacock feathers.
A defeating but forgivable refrain: you’ll for certain
flounder under the flimsy profit of prophets.
An affront to a feasible fantasy full of fortune.
A perfect French braid isn’t a luxury every high schooler can afford
when she faces the music in marching band. Add that to
the list of all those feats my fingers have failed to master.
It’s hard to tell
If i’ve forced myself
To pine over you
Or if you were placed
In front of me
For deeper reasons
Maybe i’m just
Infatuated with the idea
That love is always
Right around the corner
I’ve grown so apathetic
It’s hard for me to see straight
I think it’s easier for me
To keep you in my back pocket
So i can savor you
When you finally take me
Out of yours
I’d like to stick my head out the window Let this smog fill my lungs 2020 era Sylvia Plath
Okay
I’d like to stick my dynamite stick in the air Have an elder shake his head he’s a vet.
My bad
I’d like to tell Nikolas Cruz I think his lashes are hot I think his actions are not Evil begot acne?
I’d like to tell you this is the part where everyone stops But you’re the villain in at least one man’s story.
I’d like to be Canadian and live in Canadia. I’d like that grenadine tang Taste like grenadia.
I’d love to put a razor to your halo but I’m not much of a barber but call me bro I’m home all alone.
I like a weak bitch flexing like he finna jump, I don’t mind letting him buck if he want all the smoke.
I’d like to think I’m not half bad. I’d like to say I’m sorry but I can’t. I’d like to wear my do-rag in a Publix. I’d like to be alone. I’d like to eat foil Make my filling hurt my back few teeth. I’d like to understand Homestuck I’d like like to find a juul pod under my seat. I’d like to dust off my shoulders, but my arms don’t reach far enough to touch the shoulder blades.
Okay, there
These are just the basics, the groundwork, surprise me. Good looking out. I’ll see you in the morning.
Please keep raising suns
on your most blessed lives.
They become hope-filled stars
on others’ darkest nights.
