each new love is

each new
love is
a miniscule dot
in an infinite matrix;

a dot
to connect
to all the other dots,
to all the other loves.

together
they anchor
me down
and in.

i can’t
quit their
lines;
i can’t win.

when i’m inside them
they feel huge, like surround-sound,
like a canyon, like the hand of god.
and i am tiny and grateful.

i forget that
there is
anything
else outside of

that dot.

i knock up against each point
in search of myself, my shifting
shape; like a blues echo they
triangulate, answer back:

gravity,
harmony,
agony.

please

i want
to feel your thorns, run
my tongue up, down, over their peak,
let them cut me deep, make me weak,
make me bleed for you, seep into your
hungry mouth; i want to feel you come
apart when you taste me, take me
under, tear me open-asunder with
want and wait and need. i want
you greedy for only me, for my
teeth against your throat, my
adorned desire on its knees.
please.

every one is listening

20150504_065758

wrap your self in

your own narrative,



in your own sweet & terrible

story that only you can



weave. others will try

to tell it for you:



you must shut them

up with your own



glory. do not be afraid

of the way you shimmer



& shine when you climb

to the top of that finite hill.



you worked so hard to

get up & out of the valley.



you were the only one there

to see the true darkness;



the hurt;

the despair.



others tried to care

but could not enter.



when you came out

you were a new being,



wearing

survival.



at times you still feel like a fraud,

like an imposter in this world,



like you are trying to win a

race you have already won.



the real frauds are the ones

trying to take your voice.



stand tall on the sun-soaked

cliff and tell your story—all



of it—even if no one is

listening.



and,

every one is listening.




Art by Olivia Santiago


First line and some concepts shared by Barbara McNamee Moody

addictions are all equal: four corners & nowhere to go

20140226_091519

the moon used to wake her, stir her into words,
into other worlds, for a brief hallowed glimpse.

ever since the crisis she’s begun to lose memories,
moments, milestones sucked away under the bridge;

the eclectic shock seeping into the ridges of her mind,
numbing loves, surviving madness, stealing time.

she’s just a breath away from the mine, the ledge, the
lightning cell, the need to fall hard & fast down the well.

don’t kill the messenger

calendars & clocks
tides & aftershocks

icarus taking the sun for a walk

talismans of tenacity
keys to the magic city

atlantis meets narnia meets goldilocks

entire blocks of memory lost
to the flood of mercury

but the strangest little details come calling
come crawling out of the night

retrograde
retrorage

reasons to knife the page

everything starts sounding the same
the same the same the same

i miss the heartless

moonflower3

wandering around,
looking for something
to pour into, to feel through,
to let glide down the sides
like molten gold, like a woman’s
touch, like a moon-lit hot spring.

it all starts with the missing:
the void that needs to be filled,
that sucks in something i can give;
something i can take;
something i can sustain
for a time.

these borrowed hands,
heart, mouth, mind—strong
in their making—leave me
wanting, paint me with a deep
black-blue i love and hate
and barely push through.

Art: Moonflower, by Bo Olsen

mournful-joyful

20150513_182042

you only pass this way once:

crossing this one-way bridge



that sings out your dragon song,

that does not repeat.



they say if you’re not

growing you’re dying.



well, you’re dying anyway,

so you might as well grow



some thing. be at the

center of it, even in the



midst of the mess, the

pain, the loss; digging for



meaning. keep gathering:

moments, memories,



portraits,

tragedies.



like a quiet warrior,

keep fighting



the urge to give up,

the surge to not care.



keep finding some thing to love,

to pass on, to lift up, to bear.

20150513_202235

Photographed structure “Home Away from Home” created by Katarzyna Borek and on display at the IX Art Park in Charlottesville, VA