Lion Cubs

We circle each other. We smell blood. My wounds are deep as you stick your hand inside this stigmata. You don’t see how I sacrifice myself for you. You have the gift of being blank. I am so burdened by the specter, pale images in my mind today. We have the same growl; you to force yourself to feel again, I to survive how I tear through skin. Fights to the death are an everyday occurrence.

From the collection “Animal”



Cover my eyes. My gut instinct is the same in my dreams but the desire to form a more tangible wall between us than the one forming in the psychic sense is combated by your body. Heavy heavy weight pressing on my legs, my hips, my struggle to erect. Cover my mouth. These aren’t the things you admit out loud especially inside this habitat, this tank, glass walls surround us in water we cannot drink. I want to suffocate inside myself, chum for the kill. Was I diving for a reason, they will ask, if I was so blind I did not see your path before I was swallowed in the tide. No remains to wash on shore, I am hidden, just a pit in your stomach. Comfort yourself, at least it was over quickly.

From the collection “Animal”


True love is setting you free to fuck up and just so you know I can wait long enough for you to learn to perspire when we grab each other in dark bars downtown overshadowed by chandeliers. We admire the tenacity we each display in rejection and coming back for beatings with candlelight spirits under our chins each Tuesday. So tell me tomorrow how one day we’ll work out and I’ll agree once I change my middle name from corruption to correlation. Sweet like an overpriced shattered glass in my hand, so just lay here with me in preparedness. We will outskirt our fates soon.

From the collection “Ladykilled and Manhandled”


You are wiry and I am just wired, fuses tied to bombs in my stomach to flatten Calcutta but tonight they decimate this distance we’ve established between our appendages for appearances sake. I like the way you run your fingers through my hair when you assure me your girlfriend won’t mind and your moaning tells me my hipbones have the perfect location. We will be fodder for tabloids, a story told only over ale but right now this is enough.

From the collection “Ladykilled and Manhandled”


This is what held me back: the inability to say, “Kids, my hand is so filled with things, so many bustles on Tuesday morning in a man’s arms and eye squints on sunny middays with smiles and sunburn. And there is also so much nothing, a lack, a space occupied and now holding abandoned tents. I’m a speak-easy on a Sunday at 4 am, battered and grinning with gapped teeth. I am the needle we keep just in case we need it, we don’t need it, but just in case, just in case we do. I am a picture of words, uneditable but holding ink so tightly that a fraction of pressure could burst our seams. We are magnanimous, child. All these things have no meaning, except in the second we say them.” It is the act of vomiting the mind that clarifies you.

Tin Foil

It gets harder to look at your pictures now, not just the ones with you offering a smile in a misdirectional way, not just the slope of your shoulders in east coast sunlight, not just the way you straighten your tie with perfect pearl fingers. Drive me back across Ohio, I dare you, I leave breath there that has a special kind of fear on its tips. The smell of radiators burning your blankets and my skin, I desire to be lost in an epiphany this autumn, to understand my own rapture and reasoning. I am content, I am at peace now. Part of my swallowing hard is meant to tell you I’m not sure if this is enough.


When our faces are close enough together our eyes become one. It is this disgusting attribute we call fate that keeps me standing still. Motions in the city mean nothing come winter anyway (this time last year I was fine; a few months later I was drinking and dying every night). Intersectionality is one of my favorite words, but you are woven in my life so that without you I might be one thread away from frayed. Do these pennies on my eyes glisten in the sunlight still?

I’m Drunk But Smart Enough to Stay Quiet

Can we pretend for a minute this means something? I’m just wanting a finite second not devoid of our hands touching and slipping palms against one another like they did that night, then I’ll go back to dropping the surge in my heart for a simple rushing to control the pit in my stomach that’s forming an evolutionary warning to pretend it’s okay that what we had has developed into nothing recognizable by those but the most keen human eye observing two people with a connection worth recording for just a second before you leave in the morning.


I’m waiting for your note that says go back home because I will surprise you on your doorstep. You are in the marrow of my bones, the framework on an unfinished foundation, not biologically but integrally. When we hug I bury my face in your neck and I breathe deep. When you tell me you need space you may not see but i just walk behind you at the same pace. I know you don’t freelance, we play for keeps, so when you let me speak for you I gave you my keys. You don’t believe in forever, but that’s how much time I’ve blocked out so clear your schedule, we’re going home now.