[tabby title="Poem"] An empty wine bottle makes loveto a rose, even if you don't rememberwhere the flower came fromor how the wine stained another night, leaving your yearning for love desperate,like someone who overthinksmaking their bedas a way to smother...

[tabby title="Poem"] If you were a burning building,I would run in,have my skin dance with your flames,while others take swimming lessonsand worry if they bought the bestbrand of sunscreen. Even if the dead float better than the living,they are sunk...

[tabby title="Poet Bio"] Flatter than a quarterleft one a train track,I tried to typeabout my 42nd birthday cake,but instead of sweetening the pagewith metaphorical icing,I ended up staring at the blank whitenessand felt the weight of wordscrush me,until this poem...

[tabby title="Poet Bio"] Days marching by like an armydaydreaming about death,while we hide in our cellars,french-kissing peace,only to realize how toothlesslove can be when we're alone,fantasizing enoughto make our feet go to sleep,and the bombs prove they're realby separating arms...

[tabby title="Poet Bio"] Lying in bed at 10:47 AMwith the lights on,reading a dead man's letters,hoping to get an answer for the waymy cold knees hide under blankets,whispering failures about attempts at warmth,but it has been worse, but also better-my...