Poetry

After the life of Kevin Bryson (1955 – 2018)   By a tall fire I want to hug,  I know Cesium-137  traveled from Atomic Age detonation  into the water cycle. […]

Published in Typewriter Emergencies (Pages 6 – 7, June 2018) and Still Human (Falkenberg Press, 2025)

At home, I check the tag on my rainbow shirt: made in India.  The tag on my vintage-looking jeans:  made in China. The tag  on my boxer briefs: made in […]

I skimmed a news headline  about some scientist finding sugar   in oxygen. So I’m cutting out oxygen for a year. You mustn’t worry  or drag your worry   to […]

Remember when a gun  got found  in a kid’s backpack at our daughter’s  elementary school.   As soon as she breathed back home, I sped over to feel her heartbeat […]

Published in Poemelon: A Journal of Poetry

“How are you, Clementine?” “—.” “Why can’t you talk?” Clementine opens her mouth to reveal a frog in her throat. “Why is there a frog in your throat?” Clementine writes […]

Mary runs through the open gate of Mountain View Cemetery   where gravestones surround her sweat on a curved road.   In Mountain View, she gapes upon a downtown skyline. […]

When Oakland took their bullet for a walk, that runaway caliber pressed its width into brown skin   within a multigenerational neighborhood outsiders stamp as another ghetto. Oakland took their […]

In the night’s black crush, I carry wonder   if we breathe alone within our exhale of stars.   Under redshift hellos scattered across this big-hug sky, how many atmospheres […]