P O E T R Y
I write poetry all the time. I think I’m getting better. Occasionally, if I’m very lucky, a publisher agrees.
In Lion’s Rite, I combine poetry and drawings. In sculpture, I create hybrid pieces that combine handwritten poems and forms. I also write traditional poetry- by which I mean, words only. This section includes a couple poems.
Z Publishing included my poetry in their anthologies, Arkansas Best Emerging Poets (2017) and America’s Best Emerging Poets (2018).
Die Tomorrow
Don't die today.
Do it tomorrow or
Next week. Stick around till the Azaleas bloom.
It should be any day now, and really, after all you’re suffered,
What’s a day or two more?
It's raining this afternoon. If you're not here, who will walk
Your neighborhood looking for lost worms?
Who’s gentle hands will lift them from sidewalk to soil?
Do that first.
Then,
Maybe an Oceanwater from sonic. Drive with the windows down,
Let the music out and the mist in; until the urge to meet
The lights of oncoming traffic becomes overwhelming and
Then go inside. Change into dry clothes and thick socks.
Fill the rest of your evening with self loathing
and hopelessness,
as long as your puffy eyes open in the morning.
Another morning, you do not want, but
The birds are heading home. Have you ever seen a Fallout Day?
Stay
to stand on a ridge as thousands of birds tear the air around you
In post-storm confusion.
Experience the air beating against you; demanding recognition:
I EXIST. I EXIST.
I know right now that message is more threat than
Affirmation but give it time.
Don't die today.
It’ll keep.
Die in May. Unless,
You could stay for pride. A month of celebrations and mistakes
and joy. Theirs
But, perhaps, sporadically,
Yours too.
Go to a drag show and when the performer picks you as her favorite,
(and why wouldn’t she?) let her give you a little kiss on the forehead.
Make mistakes,
Get body glitter irreparably embedded in your backseat.
Die in July.
It's far too hot. July's rubbish.
Except- that's when volleyball starts again… and languorous nights
Playing absolute shit
With people you like is an evening well spent.
The sky turns into cotton candy in the summer.
Stay. Watch the evening pull itself apart in pink and blue ribbons,
In glorious undress, for the gentle eye of the moon.
Get too hot. Sweat too much.
Have a brutal, swamp ass summer but
Don’t die today.
I know Halloween is a ways away but…
Your crush is going wear something so stupid
And still manage to look hot.
It defies reason, see it for yourself. One more October!
Let the long-awaited breeze lift the heat and dust
From September, one more time.
The winter chill nudges in October and
You’ll unpack your sweaters a little too early.
It might just be weather but
When you reach for that box of clothes before you really need it,
it’s proof that, despite yourself, there is a part of you
That’s looking forward to something.
Don't die today.
Death will keep.
Mango
The mango is snug in my palm.
I slide a finger into the shallow tear.
Gently loosening, until I part the skin
And bury my face.
Mango juice slides down my jaw; across my wrist.
The sweet syrup drips
and drips
Down the soft underside of my arm,
And pools, in that place
Opposite my elbows.
My mouth is full of wet, slippery fruit
And it tastes like memories
And summer heat.
My teeth drag across the pit,
Scoring until every morsel is devoured.
When the mango is spent
I suck the juice from my fingers
and lick the trail of citrus on my arms.
A ravenous, little beast.