"And I thought it was empty / And I promised it was empty / As I held it to his head"
Air Gun
Category: Poetry
Me Cago en Dios
I do not need the once a week passing of the peace, preferring / the wheat smell of my dog’s paws or daily nods to strangers / passing.
Stigmata
God must have realized / he made a mistake with my stigmata / that he marked the wrong person with a holy holey hand
When You Kiss Me
I’m a mourning dove praising the sting of / a thousand little deaths— I’m dawn slipping / beneath the sandman’s sheets— I’m a backlit / peak— I’m a dandelion giving props / to the sun
Three Poems
it will be holy / it will be most holy / everything / set up / placed / and set out / placed / and set up / placed / and burned
Crooked-Finger Woman
I wait for you under a weeping birch. / I will climb through forked branches / to seek the message you’ve come for.
When All Else Fails
not all scars / tell a story / or were deserved
Cumulus
A solitary cumulous / in a sea of space
No Botticelli, This—
No ginger virgin, hands modest to sex and breast, / flesh fallow, fecund as sky gone to seed in the sea . . .
Psaltery & Lyre 