Bemused

Bemused

Petrarch had his Laura,
a phoenix feather for his pen.
Danté’s blessed Beatrice
sent him to hell and back again.
Rilke’s heart-sick panther.
Burns’ wee tim’rous beastie.
None tremble with the thrill I feel
whenever you retweet me.

Read More

Burning Bush

Burning Bush

This bush is on fire,
and we have misplaced god.

Read More

Pieces

Pieces

The thing about puzzles is, there’s a moment between when you have all the edges done, and when you have enough of the middle filled in to see what’s missing, what’s left.

Read More

Another

Another

Crow in a birch tree
shakes rain from its wings…

Read More

Young Female Writer’s Lament

Young Female Writer’s Lament

Why is everything I try to do coming out stilted and slow today? I blame you. The general, faceless you. The you who keeps telling me I need to be smaller, wittier, brief.

Read More