Set in Bedstone

Spending money I don’t have

on drinks I’ve already owned

paperless diamonds

etched in pillow stone.




Spiced Swimming

As the ghost of reason 

tumbles from my lips

turning tricks with scents of ships

sailing poisonous, golden seas

I wish you would kiss the captain 

and dive, entwined with me

lungs bequeathed

to derelict, dismissible dawn

and swim to the bottom 

of uncommon decency. 


Okay I have 6 minutes to write a poem

I’ve been drinking

and truth be told I’m not entirely done.


your distance makes me feel warmer 

as if the way you reciprocate

every other moon

brings more brightness

to the skies claimed 

under your name.

The way you bury yourself

rather than leave me to appreciate

the nuance of air

renders all wandersome thoughts

shovels, built into my wrists

the pulse of me

calling to your subsurface 



that I might again

say, “hello,

how is your morning 

and, beyond carving

lapis out of clouds,

how might I better

the stride of your soaring?”