Frequent Flyer Program

I can name any season, but the trees I love will die
where they are. That what it means to become a light

year, to become memory: never stay long enough
to know belonging the way water’s face knows the sky,

the world’s translucent lung—the deadliest mammal
& the quietest. Read more →

I have a theory that greyhound outlets don’t work on purpose

my drowsy hand crackles the bag full of / braided hair full of braided time. the sun fills my ears and i sweat-dream it out: me, somewhere soon, seen but not noticed, smoothed down and seaglassed. unobstacle to. my eyes, bottle green and just as translucent.


There was once a woman who went out with a man whom she was pretty sure was going to kill her by the end of the evening. She knew this when she gave him her email address. She might have even told him, email me. Now they’re at an elegant wine bar about three miles from her house, sitting at a table between two tall slim plants with fat, waxy leaves. She takes a sip of the wine that he’s probably filled with drugs. She went to the ladies room a few minutes ago in order to give him a chance to do this. Read more →