The best advice I’ve heard is leave them wanting more. As a result, my poems from here on in will be abrupt. Succinct. Truncated like a...

It’s like the first time you fall in love. You don’t ever love a woman quite like that again. —Montgomery Scott, “Relics” Star Trek:...

Families have been starving both in Gaza and Sudan— and yes, a bunch of other places, and I’m complaining my bananas have been bruised. I...

Tomorrow  is my favourite day of the week. No— make it my entire life— the day I’ll rise with a burst, as though I’d swigged some Red...

I’ve heard the bee is dying out, i’bi mŭ you called it in Shoshone, this summer lacking the drone of other years, when it was the two  ...

Every tulip prostrate in expired respiration. The crowning vault of dolphins before entanglement in nets. A painter’s irrevocable stroke...

You’re the man on the seventh floor, who has seldom ventured past the city limits, who drives a bronze convertible every summer, never...

You’re verbose when you’re laconic. Your silence like the crunch of boot-on-grass, in late November frost, foliage swept away by gust...

At some point in your childhood, you and your friends went outside to play together for the last time and nobody knew it. —original...

I have a “friend” who shares his heart beneath the sun, leaves emojis for the wounded from the succor of his sofa, landing like an air-...

You groan you’ve been forsaken, before your swill of vinaigrette, heaving I’ve drowned the lettuce— its brown of decaying leaf, the shed...

Yes, I misconstrued. Assuming this to be a poem of peace, the cessation of our missiles; a round from an AK-7. I thought the number after...

When you told me the biggest human genocide took place in the “Belgian” Congo, I cursed my homeroom teacher, my biased curriculum, the...

Which colour will we say they were once their skin & flesh are gone? The pigment of each iris when their sockets, cavities?  Gouged by...

It's a Jane or Johnny-come-lately, the solitary rose in my garden, a harvest holdover or belated bloom that's risen when the others have...

With your hands wrist-deep in the black of loamy soil, you tell me your infant daughter died at break of dawn, on a day that our star...

The flowers in my house are a fraud, marigolds that never wither, forsythia forever fake with vibrant yellow that doesn’t fade, daisies...

I’ve never written you a love letter, as I did for the girls I crushed on in school, vowing a childish forever love. I’ve been told that...

It’s hard to believe that crotchety old man and his wife hobbling into the store where I work were once hippies. Their faces creased like...

This one is not so Grand as its river, no Seine cutting at its heart or couples arm-in-arm amid  je t’aime. We can see the eroding...