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Whisper
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Counting into the Ground, or Writing and Dying in a Numerical World
Desperate / cry! The Sapiens / climb out of molded
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NOT YET
NOT YET – / mad is the little girl, tongue to teeth / sliver drinking the draft
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Untitled
If this poem can be / called stream of / consciousness, then this
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LESSONS IN COUNTING
a sedan in an alley can / hold one child, one adult / and two swallows
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SINK BLOSSOM
Wet enough, / a paper cup / will wilt in
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AS CHILDREN DO
Hot breath creaks inside my chest, groans / my slats with pearly condensation. / I am twenty – and I am warped,
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SONNET ON CONSEQUENCE
The effect of you was that / I could not say three words / or breathe enough. At
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WHAT YOU SEE IS
What you see is / a body melting, / puddled and red running
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