Poems

I see the faces of the ones who do not complain. I stand, godlike, determining their fate. Civilization awaits my decision.

Cardamom cloves. Poured into mismatched cup and steel glasses. Sipped over gossip and a twin-tailed mermaid.

fat weighs less than depression, but has greater volume, filling the space between id and ego, a gelatinous buffer against world.

Don’t mention my divorce or deferred adolescence but apologize
for the times I was a lousy parent.

I am | the Other Side of the story, the face | from a picture book | whose title | you cannot | pronounce: | In another life | I forged with you across continents,

You were special, hard… but so are gems. You were a shard of glass embedded under my skin.

A decade and two years of prairie farming. His hands touching her limp silhouette; Laid in the comfort of her bed.

Bodies – One by One – which flail out the Rivers like Salmon, already caught by haunting Men.

Only an expanding heart . . . one that under-stands Those who ignore their history are doomed to repeat it.