THE FIRST TWO MONTHS.

It's been awhile. I wrote this at the end of February, 2016. 

THE 'DESPITE YOU' ZINE.

Last May (2015), my bandmates and I put out a record called DESPITE YOU. Our bassist Steph Monohan (stephaniemonohan.com // inkonyourgrave.tumblr.com) and I collaborated on a zine to accompany the record that reflects some of the lyrics and themes on the album. If you hadn't figured, I wrote the poem, she did all the illustrations. Here it is for posterity's stake. 

THE PRESTIGE.

We've miasmal weaves within us,

storm systems surging up treelines - 

always heard her hunter wool, what

was the color that they cut her

golden shoulder cry?

I was nothing when she called, just

some brackish gray - sage, she whispered.

WHITE SUMMER.

This is a compilation of 3 poems I wrote last year that I felt worked well together, three parts of one summer 2013. 

ETIQUETTE.

A guilty groundward

glance, an ache against

meeting the all and all of 

eyes. A screaming bell,

soaked stray sod, my

head bowed - Hey! 

Hey. Miles away. A 

black spot slid cross-

walk by black dog, 

chattering trenchteeth,

the stars that hang above

brittle with deadleaf tremble - 

How you been? Well, Hell

is an open-pilled palm

extended every instance, 

knowing no matter red or blue,

again you’ll be asked 

to choose - 

Fine. You? Alive, wagering

from the walking. I’m

actually really good, Chris, 

Fine. You. Alive. I actually

had a dream where miles

away, I was a bell in the rain. 

...but yeah, really great

running into a gesture glibly

given, hoisting the back-

borne bones - You too,

take care - the ceiling

was waiting. 

IN JAZZ.

I cannot think

in jazz, though

the sound I 

comprehend- 

the sound a

second locking

looks in the

deli line, the

deadly rhythm

of suggestion. 

CARRIED.

Broken shells
on a shelf, a
feather and
some books,
some read.

Years of
collecting us
and now, soft
and glowing,
bells in the rain.

What a time
to know you,
all along and ever,
were feeling
through -

a slender
hand, pale
and strong,
stroking -
Shoulders back,
chest out.


I wrote this early August, 2013.