He Met: A Swedish Translation Poem

Eight telephones tall, I ran out Knotted oaks painted the lands with glitter I forced her nigh in the jagged oral light, while Rats solve the hotel's mysteries after dark. Low, run-down bars pair the Orient's rings Encompassing names with jeans and Harley-Davidson leather jackets, switch blades and cheap whiskey. Scaring children to sleep.   … Continue reading He Met: A Swedish Translation Poem

Drivers: A Negative Inversion Poem to “Passengers”

Pluto will implode like a gall bladder in its moons, the light flips to water and the water to a nameless name, There will never be anyone driving the motorcycle through these one-ways strewn with broken glass among blathering men hating their children, never a quick alphabet of sun speaking of lingering and surviving, never … Continue reading Drivers: A Negative Inversion Poem to “Passengers”