Dear Penny:

As you may
or may not know,

I dug your grave
with a hammer.

I can still
hear you

when I walk
upon the rooftops,

like Lincoln
falling into silver.

Arsenic Lobster, Spring Issue!

One of my poems was published in the new Spring 2014 issue of Arsenic Lobster Poetry Journal. And I'm stoked to be published in the same issue as George Kalamaras, the Poet Laureate of Indiana. George is awesome! Stop in and read his work and the work of others if you get a chance! Go Indiana!

Ask Again Later

To me, my
face is

just skin
wrapped around

animated bone.

Some believe
that skulls

have magical
powers.

In relation
to skulls,

I met a little
girl at Meijers

the other day.

She was trying to find
a Magic 8 Ball

that said, "Yes."

Each time
she shook

the little orb
I could hear her brain

turn upside-down
as if to say,

"what's at the
bottom of this river?"

Tallow

Dogs
of bone
silenced
the right
hand.

The night
had wanted
to fathom.

Midblessed

Everyone
is a friend.

Every dark
whip.

Every
mysteryface.

Every
hanger.

Three
ruined jackals

in the iron.

The sad
case

of permarust.

5.1.2

I want to feel you
out with my macrosmatic animal.

You leave me

horribly agastopiafied

        in the terraflats 

                  beneath the outcrops.

Tulips

I like the way
you creep

like a bird.

I like the way
you creep.

Your deciduous
profile.

The way
you impress me.

I mean
the way press me

out of body.

White cathedral breeze.