Freak Storms

there are brittle
cicada shells beneath
our feet, i’m in them,
i’m a shade, an exoskeleton


forbidden closeness / pure proximity /
one hand on my shoulder / nothing
but gymnasium breeze on my
lace draped waist


Your body and mind go through a transitional phase in March.

New Poem

A Day Like a Trinity,
Three in One to Blame

I make these plans to write —
like a “real writer”


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