Poetry

2 poems

In a stretch of amber water some call the swamps of Florida, a man longs for the home he has always lived in, a long-muscled wave tossing between shores, the quarter mile of liquid he knows as if he were the watchman of its vein.

2 poems

The moon painted a picture of me and she called it “hay.” The picture is my hair, sliced off from the ears down, tied with rope and slapped onto a clean, metal table.

2 poems

it was coming out of your mouth we had to ask passersby to grab a cup and throw it to the birds it took 3 months to get all of it out