Der Panther

Vines blink in form voracious they stab

mud garden, this niche lay ahead

Mist as others save her gave her

A thousand hints stable kind of pelt

Divider fang gash and dig stark shredder

a sick lark clan increase drought,

wise to dance for craft an admitter,

in the bathtub cause will spread. 

No man sleep there hanged in popular

sick loudless off then get in bed nine

Get church there glider panther still

a hurt in cats zen off resign

Joan of Arc

dirty hands, this chapel is closed

indefinite flesh prison/hatred

a blood moon – eclipse

I must have been an angel in the beginning

a raped viking vessel

try me, fucker, try my eyes

like lies and liars and sinners

I must have given myself to the flame

scarlet ink, gunpowder, hitched skirts,

string me up on your bloody bleeding cross

your finger to my lips

how do they taste

the wind laced/poison breath

the harbor reminds me of death

“Signed and Sealed”

Buzzz. Buzzz. Pause: wet paper towel. Buzzz. Does it hurt? No, not really. It’s worth it.

That’s what they all say. Clenched teeth. Buzzz. Buzzz. Where do you go to school? Buzzz.

Pause: loading more ink. Oh, yeah? I went there too. Do you like it? Buzzz. The boy’s arm twitches.

Stay still. Buzzz. Buzzz. His leg, this time. Need a break? No.

That’s what they all say. Buzzz. It’s nearly finished. A wonky black shape, to you. For him, a breakneck taboo.

“Furnished Blush”

One slip, a falling trick, then she’s in his arms, a CRASH.

He traces her Picasso cheekbones. The back of his hand comes away, a smear of soft yellow glitter.

She frets about the smear. Do I still look alright? She fears.

It looks fine. But then the eyes. Can you see them? She asks. They follow her. There are so many.

He doesn’t know what to say. Can he make it up to her, in any way? He’s not sure what he did wrong.


Where my feet

should be

can’t begin to step

to step

to step

takes energy

I do not have

to walk

I’d rather fly

to step

to glide

past the brick

and mortar

down a set of stone

steps going down

going down

that building is so

white it hurts

my eyes

can’t look

now to step

to step

a familiar

what path

is this?

A bird

am I

just a limping thing

or can I


to glide my

arms open wide

for some semblance

a taste of home

“Corsets: Part Two”

binding history

a ghost in the fog

golden fruit

broken spinal


of a war

a war of

blood and thorns

born of a war

lead paint

lead blade

lead pencil

black vines

of obsidian

made of war

orange sparrow

stuck to her

a war partridge

a partridge of war

rivers running

red rivers

made of battles

chaos rising

a ghost in the fog

binding history

a war of wounds

smudged bodies

the all-seeing eye