Rising With the Dishes




snow-blind (in summer!)

and dulled by desire

I, forged, forgotten, fogged


Epistemic Certainty


the city lifts you on a bicycle

and the wind! The wind on your rich lips!

our eyes alight with tempest

your visage now lost to the crowd


(penned partially in Zagreb May 2016)

In the Morning

We set out on the high road amidst mesas and clouds of overpowering majesty. Between us was a loaf of homemade Peruvian Corn Bread which we tore apart with our teeth. We spoke about the rapidity of changes in perception and the urgency of examining one’s own consciousness. After slogging through a musty thrift store, she found high waisted black velvet pants. We arrived at the river full throated; pantsless and suspended we swam, hugged the sky, and kissed the mesas. Our fingers traced whorls beneath the currents. Bliss.

My car jumped off of a wall – there was a moment of suspension before landing – the smell of exhaust and smoke and latex dusted airbag against my cheek and then the blur of the faces of kind passerbies. “Are you okay??” “Do you need a ride?!” “Are you okay?” My home lay bleeding, its nose in oncoming traffic. The police came. The man whose wall I’d smashed came. Everyone was civil and kind.

My friends pulled up, playing Lemonade, their car full of foil balloons. One of the balloons said “It’s a boy!” The tow truck pulled up, and its lights illuminated my shattered windshield. In another friend’s car we followed the tow-truck at a maddeningly slow pace.

I have good people all around me, but strangely that is no comfort. Although I have not had physical solidity for years, only now am I bereft of a home.

messy bones

“In as much can as you share the same soul she has learned the art of seeing too”


The sky is buttermilk spilt upon sweet blue rivers betwixt mossy boulders. A car alarm is jolting my senses as I lean against the Walgreens and wait for my best friend. My mouth tastes like peppermint creme Gas-X. I am wearing black shorts and a black tanktop. An hour earlier I shared with my mother the depth of anger I hold about one particularly vexing situation and the preternatural ability of people in bringing their suppositions into actuality. She looked deep into me and expounded on intimacy and the importance of having tools and being honest.

“Eey can you buy me some beer?”

These hecklers don’t know that I’ve been to places where heckling is a livelihood and I see all and know all and when fully lucid outshine anyone. I am unnecessarily harsh in my response to them.

He picks me up wearing dark glasses, Adele’s ‘Send My Love’ loud in his speakers. We dance. People stare and people join in. We stop at Sonic and drink lemonade. A small boy knocks on the window.

“My mom wanted me to tell you that she likes your moves.”

At the grocery store a man eating a sandwich takes off his headphones.

“You both have some excellent moves.”

We drive until it all shakes out.

The next day we walk some dogs and play tag in an empty tennis court while singing songs to each other, and later we eat ice cream in a parking lot.




heritable visage

One day Jane’s hair starts to fall out. Not in that “I’m shedding” way, but in a “Wow, the entirety of my scalp is noticeably less covered by hair!” way. She wanders onto the screened-in porch, and falls into deep reverie. The trees are golden, the air fragrant. She wonders if her husband has noticed. She wonders if this is the product of an undiagnosed autoimmune disorder. Maybe there are too few vegetables in her diet? A wasp is attempting to escape the upper left corner of the porch. Her legs and arms are still amply furnished. She checked. She returns to the house and begins to cook salmon fillets in a cast iron skillet.