Category: Bold


Stella in the Starlight

Stella sticks her toes in the grass and she don’t knowthe impact — the moonlight bending on the bowingblades of grass, casting long shadows like tracks. I follow her, relaxed Stella don’t know her own impact. 



Jealous, she callsfor stardust and raises one fist high.  She’s a miracle-years-old and younger than 


Available in paperback and e-book, Articulated Soul is a collection of 50 poems in five categories (Kansas, Austria, Indonesia, New Zealand, and Hawaii). These poems catalogue the many fragrant emotions of living abroad on one’s own, the sites and smells, the insecurities. Supplementing the angst are 25 original collages, expanding the metaphor of influence and creativity. Grateful acknowledgment is made to the editors and … Read More Announcement!


Working From Home

  Sometimes you have to unlock the chest and hurl your throbbing heart into the afternoon air so stuffy and hateful & perfectly taunting fighting back against the restlessness in those tippy toes to stand up tall against the counter and count the screams from the windows. February falls not far from the wandering tree these winding fingers this sloping house the floor on … Read More Working From Home


On Structure and Feeling Perfect

  Fists to the wall, my marble friend, for who hears no chime when the cup is set upon the porcelain? If you lean in close, you’ll hear sentences, casting around the four walls whimpering in rhyme, dripping in furnishing, fur lined over long sips of hot tea cozied up to the counter longing to call it good—



  Key:  x = Donald Drumpf y = voters z = state o = Republicans b = women Render the verdict on x. Y come together to come apart at the nation’s seams, rippling constantly a fool’s errand elongated across a sea of z’s, all in it to win it. O hold the whip against the non- whites, the non-brights, the non-O really, including … Read More Calculus



  as if the earth under foot were some sort of place holder, stubbornly held firm by clenched fists and steam whistle ears as if they didn’t see that we could see that we weren’t the people they were talking about—


Cafe, 1 a.m.

  Weary eyes opened wide propped up on toothpick espresso cups licked clean, licked smart the woman in the wide-brimmed hat warm breath, wild thoughts tells us of visions, the dessert dunes camels in hand Mount Tahat in the dust kicked up no way! some shout    get outta here!


Nazare, February.

Standing with salty toes smelling of fish on the grandstands of Nazare, cliffs so big cresting giants double the height— rising great walls of freezing winter water jackets on so tight, skins the color of rubber suctioned, hands so white gripping tows a mammoth wave rising like the froth of a pub beer it crests and slams—


Moon Dance

  There are 7.8 billion poems about the moon; having read none of them, I wonder: If all her glowworms cast their eyes to her size and whimper amongst themselves: why she so low— then what does she do? Diddly.


Skin to Skin

  Hold hands with me. My feet won’t point in the direction I will them to, they’re on a loop and my mind is getting dizzy. Hold hands with me. I’ve been watching your stride. Your clean-limbed foot swing mesmerizes me. How can you keep so steady? Please hold hands with me.


  So it is with civilized care that I kneel down to the open blank pages of a crease-lined book and cast my memories in its bronze borders. You’re my marauder, my hopeless staircase looting the use from my crouching soul and leading me to dark places too deep to stay dark.