“Church Flowers” It’s called the blue church Because the roof is blue. Inside is dark and sombre, Chandelier light is golden. The Father sang and echoed. I would look at the walls, At paintings of bible scenes, Empty spaces filled by flowers. Five petals, faded blue or red, Yellow middle and curled leaves, Arches, frames and crowns, Second pairs of halos, Perfectly symmetrical, Perfect repetition - maybe stamped on? The saints all look the same too. --------------------------

“Her” All these lines. All these words. All these thoughts, scribbled across paper for a girl I do not see. (Not know.) Scribbled in ink, staining the paper. Staining my soul. …But she is— …she is beautiful… She is the way. On the composition notebooks pages before me: Dig deep. Dig deep to the bottom— and think of her, to the r

The Quiet Fizz Of Slow Joys Grief is not downing another glass of prosecco while the moonlight excavates the quarry of a night sky. Perhaps it's the cold hugging your hand while you struggle with the weight of something strong enough to crush a bottle caught in the temporary boundary between his hand on yours, and the rain muting your cries as you remember how your shadows shoaled together, fizzing in joy. ------------------------------------------------------------ Th

object permanence: queer death i troweled loam last summer for this, a pine sapling, loitered with creeping charlie, door- knobs of little cabbages. pink geranium hustled by bittercress, seeds puckered onto my wrists like a rash of bullet casings. what’s left is wind. if i don’t claw the earth from the earth, more & more genitals return. wild turkey thrash at the mulch regardless of the silver tongue of bird tape. most houses build around their canopies. in a decade,