Ecstatic Love Poet in Modern Times

Love is dangerous

these days

Not like it is in a poem 

More like a gun

with every chamber loaded 

It’s not, odds are it won’t kill me

If you point it at someone

and pull the trigger,

they will bleed out in the street

Not like it is in poetry 

when it just means

they fall for you

I don’t know

if that made sense

I am out

of my element

The muse returned

to my doorstep

A knock, knock, knock 

in the middle

of the afternoon 

And at first I thought I heard 

true love softly calling me

but now I know

it was screaming

IF YOU STILL BELIEVE

IN LOVE

STOP KILLING US

Oblivion, Merriam-Webster, and Holding on to Dear Life

One foot 

moves

in front 

of the other

A pattern 

that begs

repeating 

One heart 

(mine)

wondering 

how many

of 8 billion

have typed

“define oblivion”

recently 

I will tell you what it means 

verbatim 

the fact

or condition

of not remembering. 

a state marked by

lack of awareness

or consciousness 

the condition 

or state 

of being forgotten

or unknown 

the state

of being

destroyed 

Before I looked it up

I typed out the word

“humanity”

It hurts

that oblivion

immediately 

came to mind 

It hurts a little less

to know

that if even one

(any one of us)

of 8 billion 

refuses to forget 

everyone will be remembered 

 

 

Blood Dries Fast

if your hands 

are not clenched

into fists yet

it is time

to wash them

blood dries fast

your prayer requests

are lip service

on unmarked graves 

if you know

even one of their names 

and have not conceded yet 

i pray their ghost

haunts you 

until your 

mind and heart 

explode

i pray it hurts

you will be left standing here

with every one I love, wondering,

what the fuck is actually happening 

love is only

holy and righteous

when given freely

if prayers really do come true 

you will recover quickly and steadfast,

pull yourself together just in time 

to stand with the rest of us

on the right side of history 

if salvation’s found in the afterlife 

it is keeping your neighbors alive, 

right now, before the blood dries,

that will hold your reservation there 

 

By Any Means Possible

Winter weather advisory in effect

Snow blankets Arkansas  

Phones capture white landscapes 

Moments of pristine stillness

that are about to be destroyed

by the footprints of the restless 

In Minneapolis

ICE murders a man in broad daylight 

At home, the oven is preheating 

Scratch cookie dough in the fridge

How utterly horrible 

to be baking cookies at a time like this 

How absolutely frightening 

to watch his death

from three different angles

and then taste my chili 

to see if it needs more seasoning

This isn’t the human condition

it’s desensitization 

It’s reconditioning 

It goes without saying

We cannot accept this

We have to abolish this

By any means possible 

How To Destroy the World

If left up to me

we wouldn’t stand a chance 

The sun would hit my skin

perfectly

just once

and I would stand there

in its heat and radiance

for months

I would forget rest

forget the night phlox,

moon flowers, and primroses

The earth would have no night hours 

If I woke up 

from that daydream,

I might catch one sight 

of the full moon,

forget it is sometimes new,

for 24/7 host evening church

on my patio 

and every sermon I’d write 

would be about Cinderella,

missing day drinking, and midnight;

wax, wane (and destroy) just words 

I can’t recall the meaning of 

This is how

the world will end 

A collection of single bodies

moved by whims,

forgoing the seasons

for instant gratification 

Maybe if we circle back 

to the beginning

everything could just be 

temporarily out of order

Forgetting forgiven 

every time we remember 

I Want To Be A Temple

Somewhere along the way 

I lost sight of godliness

and was left only with 

my obsession for cleanliness  

Unfortunately, the hyper-fixatin’

ain’t savin’ me 

Maybe the in-between

is to enter into a chaotic space 

without feeling like 

something needs to be fixed

or demanding tidiness 

Maybe orderliness  

is inside of me

A stillness

that does not collect dust 

Is it okay

if I think 

that last bit 

is perfect 

Placeholders

I am liquidating my placeholders 

I would rather not have a couch

than sit on one I do not want

I’ve been spending time on the floor

cross-legged, kneeling, on all fours 

Curled up in a ball 

Thinking, praying, cleaning

Begging

Hopefully my neighbors can’t hear me

I don’t want them to worry 

I have been giving away

small objects 

that no longer serve me

to the people I think

they will make the most happy

Eventually everything I keep

will be something

I deeply care for

or that takes care of me 

Eventually when I lie on the floor

it will only be to stretch my back

or to meditate on charity 

There will be nothing to beg for

everything in its right place

Quiet altars only

 

only so many

The trains are busy 

Moving slow

frequently 

Carrying heavy things 

so heavy 

the tracks barely rattle 

I’m trying to memorize 

the graffiti

Waiting until 

they’re familiar to me 

There can only be 

so many trains

Non-Ascetics. Monarchs. Libraries.

I regularly choose

substance 

over aesthetics 

I would rather it mean 

something (anything, everything,

somewhere in between)

than look pretty 

Balance is not the same thing as symmetry 

Yesterday someone told me

they didn’t want to interrupt me

because I looked so at peace,

headphones on, closed eyes

I started to explain to them

about the migration of Monarchs

but paused, said simply

“I was meditating on butterflies” 

Today I met Revelations 

He asked me how my day was

“Good. Great actually.”

He said, “Exactly…” 

and wanted so badly

to tell me something

I didn’t already know 

So I listened with all of me

because I don’t know everything

He told me 

the devil is in so many

We can’t care about everybody 

He was bible thumping,

reminded me that Lucifer

was cast out for a reason,

asked me if I knew Jesus

I told him I do,

but I call him 

by a different name than you 

and rattled on about how

most people believe

in the same thing

we just use different language 

to describe worshipping 

but that I believed

the Kingdom he spoke of

had room for every body

Gawd, this nearly broke him

He kept insisting 

that not being redeemed

was the fate for most everybody 

Eventually I stopped him,

“Revelations, I really enjoyed 

talking to you,

but I have to get going”

Tonight I read up on

the New Testament,

looked up “imperialism”

And Christ does it hurt

to see history repeat itself 

over

and 

over 

and 

over

again 

and

again

and

again

God is right now 

Saints are documenting

the history of the living.

I think hindsight is Jesus 

I think it could save us 

Well/Dam (His/Hers)

White noise is
every song I love or
liked even once. The
lilting that helps to hush
day-to-day stress, loneliness
and mental origami.
My white noise is Hallelujah

dreaming is overkill

at least until

my playlist sounds like a

noise that becomes a pulley

Say It Like A Poem

I’m not saying it

like a poem

I am sitting
in the middle of it

Repeating it back

It is in rhythm 
nearly every time 

So often
you won’t even notice 

hung over

When you go home 

where do you hang your robe?

Do you always put it

on the same hanger

in the back of your closet 

or is it hung over 

a chair back 

in your bedroom? 

I want to know

where your hate lives 

when you are not wearing it

secretly

Do you sniff it

to know when

it is time to run it

through the washing machine? 

Can you smell your mother’s laundry detergent 

when you wear it?

Do you think

if maybe you were born

a little earlier,

we wouldn’t be in your father’s mess…

or do you understand

basic human decency?

If you want to disrobe now, 

I think that’s the only way

to correct your moral arc  

and footprint on sacred landmarks

What is in the water

that makes you so hateful

but

fills me up with lovely things

that keep spilling over 

Are you drunk with ignorance?

Or just hungover 

 

Back When Tigers Smoked

 i am hopeless

 and You split in two

At the top of the stairs

we kiss for the first time 

   

At the bottom of the stairs I write

"TLW" on a pack of American Spirits

i think it’s too soon

to be writing couplets

but here i am

splitting hairs with You

What's next?

A Fucking Shakespearean Sonnet

 

Back when tigers smoked, we had it easy

When led by weather and intuition,

there is no such thing as anxiety

Our bodies grow strong with repetition

Back then, the night met every morning

with a grin, plans already in motion 

Their greatest purpose, known without saying

The hardest part had already been done 

Will you meet me in the afternoon sun

at the exact time shadows disappear

Will you speak in words I will not question 

When that moment passes, if you’re still here  

we’ll go back in time, before my heart broke  

we’ll meet in the past, back when tigers smoked

In the meantime 

i will write a poem

It will be a couplet

abruptly interrupted by a sonnet 

Kindle (Soapbox for Tinder)

I finally pulled my chin up

after my neighbor told me

she loved walking by my house

because of all the flowers

and I responded with,

I only see the weeds

Thank god I only speak in truths

because half my thoughts lie to me

I should have known this spring

it was time to turn that corner

when instead of making bouquets,

I started frantically deadheading everything

How painful to explain

that sitting in the sadness of your passing

felt better than

resisting the world we all still live in

Shortly before you died, you told me

you were afraid you took my light away

I told you then

That light will never stop shining 

You were just burning so bright

it was hard to see.

I Sold the Altar

I sold the arbor,

the one we said

we would build together,

and bought a cheap piece of plastic

to grow the Kentucky Wisteria on

instead

I planted it just left of where

we were going to say our vows

I gave away your weed eater 

It was too heavy for me

And for nearly a year

I have been on my hands and knees

after every rain

pulling up the sorghum by hand

one by one

Maybe the clover will take over soon

I think I might die

if I decide to sell the gas mower

Not because it was yours

I just get sad

every time I lift it 

out of our little makeshift shed 

all by myself 

We used to lift it together 

I laughed so hard when I found 

those two brand new tool bags

in the attic

I kept the jigsaw

and paid the mortgage with the rest

Has enough time passed yet?

Can I sell this sadness

for twice as much as what I felt?

I used the money

from selling your car

to pay for eight new tattoos

and will keep getting 

permanent things 

on my body

that remind me of you

until I run out of room 

 

   

 

For the Living

For ten months

I have done nothing

but grieve

Figured out how to say

thank you

without crying

and learned how to cry

while still making coffee

I think the 9th

will always hurt my feelings

which is fine 

It is better 

than feeling nothing

Your wake was beautiful

and every day

I am reconciling

how the passing of time

can bring so much relief

but reclaims the clarity

of the recently bereaved

Besides you, 

I don't let myself

miss anything 

from before that night

I can't bring you back to life

I just want it to be okay

that you died

Music is different now

I have forgotten

how to let it fix me

Maybe the sad song

I need to hear

hasn't been covered yet

so I am still listening

I've stopped looking

for signs

that you're still here

It's like begging for water

while drowning

You haven't stopped

showing up in my dreams

My favorite is the one

where you are just sleeping

beside me

I know you are gone,

but don't tell you.

Grieving is for the living

Solstice Commends (Cross my heart...)

It is fall

for most of December.

Still autumn

when ornaments and bulbs

are sorted and reaffixed

to tree limbs, their worn edges

catching the light from new strings.

It is still November

when the sun begins to set 

shortly after noon.

No wonder winter feels so long, 

all the tell-tale signs

start too soon. 

Christmas and all its adornments,

unpackaged and wrapped

before the season

even begins.

Auld lang syne

while the rosebushes

are still in bloom. 

I used to think

winter wasn’t for me, 

but this fall changed me.

I used to ache for spring

this time of year.

I would cross my heart and pray 

the things I put in the ground

would stay alive.

Now I cross my heart 

and hope to die. 

 

'

Thursday

Everyday

almost everyday

I clean like my life depends on it

I get so wrapped up in my thoughts

deciding when cleanliness

is Thursday

or godliness 

I make all of these lists 

in my notes, in print, 

with pens that make 

me happy 

in words that do not make sense

to anyone but me

Making hard moves 

I promise

Matriarch

 The biggest problem with misogyny 

is

even after it is dissected 

it is so deeply rooted

that people still think

white men 

are more talented

than everyone else

bECAUSE

of their privilege 

what a side chuckle

As a woman, I can tell you

my emotion is your obsession

You might fixate on a sound

and try to make it better

in your bedroom 

pissed off or apathetic

pretty stoic 

about your coming of age 

but the only thing you created

is her approval

Dial It In

 My favorite house plant

is my Prickly Pear

What a happy cactus

with the happiest spikes

And it just keeps growing

Everyday it changes 

I’m not sure 

if it’s the patio that’s perfect

Or is it just the perfect specimen?

Cliché Wrapped Up In Antiquity

 Throw the shit on the wall

39 and the Entrance of Dramatic Candles

The best birthday present

Is waking up early 

The best thing about you

is everyday

even when you make me mad

especially when you make me mad

because we talk it out

with words

and we get to understand 

each other

A cute gift I received

from the people that love me 

was the perfect water pitcher

and somebody insisting

I was only 29

Even after we established

we both knew 

what year I was born

It was really funny 

that you kept me in my twenties

so much closer to you

I’m gonna use that one

I also thought it was neat

when everyone

went around the room

and said a nice thing about me

This is the last year of my thirties

and I am 29

That is all you need to know about me