Friday, March 7, 2025

BY COMPARISON

Everything that's coming 
had to come from 
something 

that itself was once 
very close 
to nothing. 

What would it be like 
to be that first thing—

parentless 
and humble, 

uncalled 
by another, and yet 

suddenly all 
at once, there 
to discover 

the nuts 
and bolts of loving, 

the long and short 
of leaving?

*

Ashes to ashes,
dust to dust, 

and in between, 
oneness (read: 

aloneness) 
with experience. 

*

It's good, now
that things are beginning 
to stir all around me—

shadows 
of dull bulbs, flickers 
of birds' wings—

that way, I don't 
have to be 
the one to sing;

I can be silent 
and still 
more profoundly.  


Thursday, March 6, 2025

JUST THE THING

In a less 
auspicious turn, 
I'm the Flesh 

made Word—
because I'm always attempting 
to be just the thing 

to spurn the unconscious 
and burst forth 
from your mouth—

because I long to degrade 
on the waves 
of midair ringing 

til I land like a seed 
in the mind 
of you interlocutor 

and bloom into 
the sweetness of a greater 
understanding—

because I was built
to live forever, 
but I cannot bear the wait, 

and on a page, I can't stop 
leading, always leaning 
towards an answer—

and lastly, because 
I am never content 
to just be myself; 

I always 
have to mean 
something else,

whether or not 
I can mean something  
great.


Wednesday, March 5, 2025

OBNOXIOUS

how loud the rusted
hinges of my heart 

still creak 
with the coming 

and going 
of your trust.



Tuesday, March 4, 2025

TURN-ONS

When I tell you 
I need understanding 

like a drug, 
it sounds degrading. 
But 

the way you can't 
give me 
what I want 

is so hot. 

*

Which do you think 
is sexier? 

my neediness 
or

the way I pretend 
not to lie to you 
about it? 

*

In my experience...
you start to say,

because the truth 
is just not 

the party dress 
you're looking for—or 

because the truth 
is that the warm muzzle 

of authority 
pressing so 

firmly against you 
is soothing. 


Monday, March 3, 2025

NO-MAN'S LAND

It's possible that 
you and I exist 

not as 
a series of near-
infinite points, but 

more as as series 
of near 
hits and misses.

In both cases, 
some kind of
surveillance is involved—

some orienting 
spin somehow
superintends

the blind-alley waste 
of directionless space—

but in neither 
could you say 
we've mapped 

the lightning strike 
of being yet, 

even though 
we've been surveying 
all the right places.


Friday, February 28, 2025

NEW COVENANT

Maybe we 
no longer need 
to have faith; 

the resurrection 
is ongoing—it happens
incessantly. 

Everywhere you look, 
you see

younger 
and younger people

flirting and gibing 
and slanging in tongues, 

nonchalant about 
coming in late 
to replace you 

as they are 
about their inchoate 
need

to one day be 
redeemed. 


Thursday, February 27, 2025

DE RIGUEUR

We are taught 
to want both 
peace and quiet, 

as if the two 
were mutually inclusive. 

But to what extent 
could the heavens be 
nonviolent 

when the light 
in which all 
consciousness subsists 

was born hence 
by bombs of such 
merciless velocity? 

It may be soundless 
in space, yes—

and weightless too, 
in some sense—but 

the most crucial
expedients
to this very thought 

were loud, hot
explosions 
none the less.