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It begins, O!                                                                                                   Nausea

My name still misses U                                                                    It’s not your fault
You read between the lines                                           When  you turned around
You did                                                                                                                 I did

I am the lady with tulips                                                       I received a letter
A lily resting afloat                                                          The butterfly effect
Ponder; did I catch the bouquet?             Second calling, nine two six

To be raptured means                                 You could not wait
To ascend into heaven             For me to fall in love
Second Coming                 INELUCTABLE

I did not know                                                  I did not know
Though the vultures warned                 The metamorphosis ended
Of my two lips                                                                       With a moth

I was reaching for the camera                     I was reaching for the chimera
But we kissed instead                                                          But the filters faded
Why did you look so sad?                                           The muse wears a question

Orb on a hill                                                                                       On her finger


How You See It

i. Night

The stable is empty tonight—
The mares are asleep on the meadow,

Occasional feeling that a winged being
Swooped by low, then high,

Now a feeling that the wingéd
Being is watching you.


ii. Day

In daylight, in the field, a bloody canary—
Somebody’s afternoon meal.



The chest is often impaled amid

Something beautiful still,
A tenderness within its scent, loftier—
Heavenly below the bowl of the eyes.

And it swoons you out of this room, sways you
To a time you once deserved and deserted, the sounds of a barrier reef
Circling in a swollen motion in your inner ear, almost
A breath expelled at the dusk of being, the richness of her
Fond rounded lips,
Pressing— as a breast presses against a cold stone wall, warming, softening,
Making full the cave, endlessly pressing, expanding, imploring in a light pink
Gesture; and sore, perhaps pressed and pierced, pressed and pierced,
Pierced in an eternal quality, pierced, until loosened, the mind lets go.



  1. Cecropia moths (Hyalophora cecropia) in their adult form have no mouths or digestive systems.They reproduce and starve to death within two weeks of maturity.