Category: Poetry

about fog; tiny liquid droplets hanging in the air, the same air which hangs your thought likea crystal where you left it but it’s also about an invention I’ve been thinking about lately, aninverted furnace of sorts, so that heat and fear goes in and a cool draft of whatever theopposite is comes out. Before…

“I don’t know, I just don’t find you that interesting.” You’re in his kitchen. It’s 5:30 but every light in the house is off, so it feels like the middle of the night. He is slicing the ends off of green beans like he didn’t just say something so devastating that it kicked three fluttering…

The long drought mocked of my intent To channel the nonexistent, flowing stream.Still, imagining the farmer, the collapsing bridgeHe built for his herd to cross overWhat must have been a muddy mire, Summoned an inner need to prepare.I bought a culvert at the local hardware store,The aproned man said could “conduct a downpour.”Leaning into its…