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  • Prodigal Son

    December 11, 2017

    After he let smooth the knotted calluses that rode the ridge
    of his palm from slinging twine-bound hay onto the stacks
    beneath the shed, then rolling…

  • papier-mache

    December 11, 2017

    layer on your

    thorns and splintery glass
    gilded, crackling papers
    fresh-cut grass

    mold it onto your soul

    cover every flaw and hole
    paint over dreams and desires
    a scarlet perpetual smile

  • flight

    November 14, 2017


    the years stole away
    my feathered wings

    day by day
    purple-tinted barbs break off
    from the rachis,
    the once fiery-gold vane
    in pain

    but then you came

    and the azure gust you…

  • Born

    November 9, 2017

    Yessssssssss, he celebrates

    while juice drips from fruit

    as if from his fangs

    and Mother Eve

    through The Fall

    groans, releasing at once

    all her children—

    bare and bawling and born