Colors dance across frosty ground
Golden sunlight reaching far corners
Dusty shadows filling unnseen crevises
Painting the land with magic and wonder

at the end of the Earth
there is a dandelion plant
the corner of the sky rests on its bosom
our world relies on its strength

In a rare process called transdifferentiation, the turritopsis dohrnii 
(known as the immortal jellyfish) can, in response to physical danger, 
leap back to its first stage of life as a polyp. The born-again polyp 

i’m floating on my back with 

sunscreen spread along my nose and 

water lapping against my shoulders. 

i should be focusing on

how the sun is warming me from the outside — in or

The Sun is a greedy emperor, 

Shining its light across the Canyon, 

And evaporating drops of water. 

 

With the land so parched and no color than red, 

Ocean wanders in to contemplate me

drafts a verse about my ankles in

twisting foam, scrambles the lines

and forgets. A mirror in the slick

afterthought of water on sand

where my feet sink in soft parchment

Under my umbrella,

I watch the clear drops descend.

They hurl, abiding gravity,

As they run, far away,

From the hands of the sky.

It makes sense for the clouds to darken,

To yowl in pain,

And to jolt fear across the land.

Are these the pangs of birth or the aftershocks of death?

What awaits me beyond this shore?

And even now when legs and feet have failed me

The sand shows trails, like serpents, of this fragility

I bleed: the gravel grinds my skin and flesh

Was it the way the leaves fell,

streamlined, as I burst

bawling onto greenery,



or the first time sunlight peeked

through dark branches overhead—



or the reddish-purple skin

stretched over my sleeping body,

Let the Rain Keep Falling

O birthplace rain     I take what I can from

your mouth,    delivering myself

             from spring seeds,

wetting my tongue

                                                                                  SC

After Jericho Brown

Like a good fisherman, I read the water.

I can’t afford to miss a ripple in the current.

            Past and future form ripples in the current,

I could hear the waves crashing above me

as I dove into the deep, dark, sea.

I felt the coral so sharp,

as I saw my hand glazing over it.

There was silence everywhere,

yet at the same time, noise

sounded in all places.

in orchards of lemon trees

we tiptoe, under the hanging yellow fruit

in blue moonlight, we will stay until

orange light leads us inside

Egg-yolks blooming in serenity

baba’s palms turn upwards

black dirt falling on the sun.

The fruit of baba’s hands

covered in spines

twisted but not the wicked way

that punctures skin.

Serpentine limbs extend in search of

The West,

To me,

Is Capoeira.

Boundless

And filled with

Saudade.

It is

The macaws

Of the Amazon.

And the macaques

Of the tamarind trees.

You ask me If I know the way back home from here. I sing the words, “yes, dear” back to you like I’m someone else. You say “alright” because you’ve got nothing else to say right now; I respect that. I keep my eyes on the road. I’m not quite sure where you’re looking at this point

Montana and Wyoming

The sprawling landscape of Yellowstone

Against towering mountains

Form a place that I’d never seen before

The animals and people you meet at pull offs

Are what make the experience an experience

Yesterday, I took a walk.

I went through the park,

I passed by one empty cup,

two used napkins,

three cigarette butts.

I jaywalked across the street,

past the hardware store

and into the coffee shop.

Wet hair clings to my cheeks

salty from the rain

Drops like tears slide down my nose

as the gray of the sky peers down upon me

Barefoot in the grass

for a few moments

I forget about the life I am crushing below

Even when she was young, Sonya had never been afraid of the supernatural.

I’ve never understood why people are so disgusted

by silverfish.

I like the little guys.

They way they scurry around from place to place,

they’ve always got somewhere to be,

perhaps because they don’t like where they are.

I know

that when I die

I’ll sink into the soil

Be eaten by all the things I’ve eaten

Become the dirt for all to walk upon

I know that my thoughts are just neurons firing

That my heart is a collection of molecules

cactus spines

pink flowers

my quiet is not

blurred signs at the edges of

interstate

when the clouds

circle at night

pack of dogs

i will my body

to be

prickly pear

The world comes to life,

As a new day dawns;

The freeze is now over,

Frosty winter now gone.

The creatures all wake

From their deep sleep.

Now through the land

Does warmth truly seep.

Drop, drop went the rain

Wet ground is so slippery

Here comes green all over

Every day, I walk along the same road,

A path of work and play, the route I know.

Every day, I carry the same, tiring load,

A burden of hopes, fears, and woe.

“It’s your turn,” Addison grumbled, her voice muffled by the pillow she was planted into. Her eyes were crusted with sleep and she shifted her head over a little to avoid the drool puddle she had accumulated during the night.

 I get hit in the face... a lot. Dodge balls, basketballs, volleyballs, tennis balls, doors, walls, bird crap, baseball bats, rogue hands, flying sand, and just about anything else you can think of. Everything just seems to have an affinity for my face.

You say it makes no difference who I am

and how I choose to express it.

You’ll say this through clenched teeth.

You’ll say this and you’ll tell yourself

It’s better that I take my time -now-

better that I get it out of my system.