With Teeth

In the hour between dog and wolf,
the heart stirs to a boil,
pulling on the breath,
chattering teeth.

The waves pass above us,
like the clouds of Alexandria,
seeing who can hold their breath the longest,
seeing who can touch the bottom.

When we die, we will come back as ships,
hulls beaten,
moving eastward,
off the cliff of the earth,
sailing back into the stars.



Bicycle trails
and broken branches,
one plays the swordsman,
the other the villain,
and in the evenings,
winter catches us again.

We strike their paws awake,
and their fangs tear and pull us,
underneath curtains of snow.

Bloodtrail leads for miles,
to the forest’s edge,
where they find us,
mixed in with the animal,
one jawline leads to the other,
the air just perfect.


The exalted.
White foam ribbons of the ocean
reach up to the mouth,
wrapping around the neck,
dragging the body down,
to the bottom,
to lie in wait like a hunter,
hunting her out.

She comes to me like January;
an embrace ending, another beginning –
sun-kissed skin.
So when will this winter end?

The ship coasts above
without her captain
steered by rebellion
all hands dining on the heart & sternum.

She brings me up to the surface,
not for air,
but to tease me,
so I can see myself at the shoreline
screaming for myself,
but I can’t hear myself,
the foam dividing us out.

Lost Travelers

The dogs hunt,
for the things they once were;
lost travelers,
along the surface of the moon.

Arrive to shallow graves,
of lime and ash,
no eulogies,
no sympathies,
just our memories sniffing us out.

A long year,
of deceit and faith,
caked under tired hands,
between chipped nails,
despite the confidence to attack.

The Empty Quarter

Black Cadillac,
silver waves,
along the forever sea.

Shift it into neutral,
allow it to slide over,
setting the beast free again.

When you go under,
the children dive down,
to catch you,
but you refuse their fingers.

So you sink,
touching sabertooths,
the dead things,
my first things.

Salt & Sea

Hands to face,
hold the boy,
lest he fall away,
like all my sons have,
they found their escape,
bedrooms to the outside –
the world kills all men,
the world destroys all things.

We dug up bones along the shore,
carrying them in buckets back home,
memories of the sea.
Built a treehouse in the sycamore,
four walls painted blue,
and in winter we stayed close for warmth.

Downstairs the world spins on,
the girls in their dresses,
and I will dance with them,
with a pocket full of the sea,
she whispers, “I will grow up to be an empire,
and I’ll let you conquer me . . . but only if you want to?”