The Things We Name

You expand
beyond the limits of your body.
No clarity,
no time. Read more →

Made-Up

Schmoney.

The anarchist pop star had a baby with the son of a billionaire. It’s a little green-grey wad of cash and guns. Proof, for those who needed it, that she hadn’t really meant the things she’d said.

I think about the pop star’s baby with the billion-heir often. Read more →

If You Would See

If you would like to see Love beating me,
How I’m attacked, how he’s my conqueror,
How he can burn, and freeze my heart yet more,
How from my shame he takes his majesty: Read more →