Benchmarked

We spoke mostly of

love,

the lack thereof,

and

overabundance 

I think I rhymed

deed 

with heed

twice,

(three times now)

Sorry bout that

Some months I never

wrote

the same poem twice,

others

lasted years 

The seasons were repeatedly

mentioned 

and every once in a while

Solstice

made an appearance

There were so many

$15 words

I didn’t use.

Believe me

I wanted to 

I spoke as plainly as

possible

even when it 

hurt.

I wish I spoke sooner

I should make a

list

of the recurring

themes,

every single flower

That would keep me

busy

for the next few 

miles

at the very least 

 

No Comparison (Similes Only)

I am ready

like a bed 

that is made

to be unmade,

pillows pristinely 

placed and plush

like poodles

at Westminster 

 

Actually

that’s a terrible analogy 

unless you believe that

no one is having more fun

than the toy poodles 

Use Your Outside Voice

Unless you 

are in

a library 

My favorite; kind.

May seems far away. It’s been  

years since I’ve felt that

fevering spring suits me 

and finding the wild

violet seeds I sowed in October 

of ‘25 flowering  

really has lit something 

inside of me

that makes me excited for 

every evening;

kneeling, calculating, being 

in the yard feels so good, right 

now I forget how 

dirty my fingernails are.

Too Rigid to Know I Am Soft

Core memories 

Time travel 

Dive bars

Patios

Lampposts 

Camel Blues

and mousse 

in no particular order 

One of these streetlights* is not like the other ones.

lampposts*

Oh!

It

 is

motion

sensitive!

That 

makes

perfect

sense.

Nope

Still can’t explain it

that may be true

when I am observing,

or doing,

when I am not 

here right now,

all I think about 

is being in that space

where you live 

now

Full Circle (The Future is The Past, Too)

If I go out of my way

to make this space secular,

and omit every reference 

to God and Genesis 

and all that religious talk,

will you follow me there

If I confessed I used Jesus

to garner interest in this 

hyperbolic, grassroots,

self-fulfilled prophecy 

that is very specific to me,

would you be mad at me

Do you like question marks???

This is Full Circle

Not as pretty 

as I hoped

I would be

but more sincere

than anyone could have possibly imagined 

May As Well Try

I have mentioned this before,

how practiced I am

at calming myself,

my mind,

thoughts,

so easily

put to rest

But today I had 

a full on panic attack 

in my body only

My thoughts serene

and safe

but

my chest

felt too small

to hold the heart 

I’d already put to rest

The disconnect scared me

but my thoughts 

were still

free

I decided

not to crawl 

inside of myself. Instead 

stood in front of everybody

and spoke my mind

until it passed

It worked,

Promise.

  

Normal Font

At the baptism

I read the prayers

for minor prophets 

I was the first one 

to arrive and cried

while I waited for you

I was born 

on a Monday morning

right around 7:30am

in the same pink hospital

my father died in

twenty four years later

Every time I write a poem

I have to choose

if it will be

in paragraph form

or normal

I choose normal every time 

The font  

is set 

to default 

but did you know

a font is also

a sacred basin,

a vessel 

designed to carry

baptismal water  

Jump Scare (Thunder Struck)

If you happen to be a man

stop reading now

This poem is not for you

As a matter of fact,

if you are not Shan

skip to the next one

(or read Normal Font again)

I hope it’s just me and you now

(in the future, this will come Full Circle)

Your beauty is accosting 

Let’s start here

Where You hit the ground running

is where the rest of us meet halt 

abruptly

You make it feel easy

and worth it

And I know what “it” is

we all do

but not everyone can see

past skin deep

And that’s what is extraordinary 

about getting to know you

but the jump is still scary

If Jesus 

comes back

it will 

be 

as a woman

She convinced 

the whole world once

she was 

the son of God

and thinks

it would be 

a fun challenge 

to try again

as their daughter 

The Center of Intention

The notebooks I flip through

aren’t as old as they used to be 

but they all say the same thing

To sum it up in a line,

we’re only free when we’re together 

The Winter We Smoked Indoors (walking it back)

In junior high

I sold chocolate

door to door,

so much so 

that I earned

an elite prize

of my choice

I was quick 

to pick the

digital alarm clock

and hit snooze

on that thing

well into my 30s

In high school 

I skipped snooze

Instead I would

set the clock 

to off the moment

it would go off,

Smoke a Marlboro 

in bed, decide 

whether or not

I would go 

to school that day

or just roll over

and make a pallet

on the side of the bed

that my mom couldn’t see

when she glanced in on me

every single morning 

Without A Summit (String Section)

I stopped drinking

long enough

to let my hair grow long

bleach it

and grow it back out again 

I drank enough champagne

that one Christmas Eve's Eve

to make you fall for me

My brain has two gears

I love you

I love you in a knot

My fingers bled  

untying the second one

My shoulder, hips, back,

and thighs bled too,

I am unraveling for you 

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 Saint Francis,

flowers 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