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Say what you will, a human being has the right to their own body.

My mother and I remained apart. My father came late to the party.

I was dusty, my ponytail all askew and the tips of my fingers ran red.

She asked, “What’s the weirdest thing you can do with your body?”

She began to see the word, or traces of it, wherever she went.

He came into town with his big red pen and began revising us.

What’s the harm? Will you fight even the healing powers of love?

I waited and waited, rethinking first sentences in my sleep.

My books, I can hardly read them, they make so much sense.

Bees kill wasps by gathering around and tightening in the middle.

Euclid stands in front of his lover’s door, open to the last hours of light.

His mother wasn’t there to meet him at his stop. She never was.

They are glorious pumpkin-skinned messengers. I hate them.

And that girls came to his house all the time, cheap girls from the docks.

Love speaks in silence, on behalf of lovers too tired for words.

She looks down the street for Scott’s truck. He’s late but so is she.

Before he started spraying he would hand her the mask to put on.

After several months, I worked up the courage to share a war poem.

Think how you move, how a room changes with your smallest breath.

Nothing likes to be abandoned, no one likes to be compared.

My lust works like the tides pulling in reverse, controlled by a simple ballast.

I wanted my love to be everywhere, then love began to bite through me.

My mother is queen of buttons. She shows off the prized ones.

David Lee

Salt provokes, tenderizes. Your wounds, your dinner.

But we do despise beauty. We connect it with softness and immortality.

All right. We are perfect. Tomorrow we will make a million dollars.

Charlie wasn’t Lena’s first love, but he counted on being her last.

We travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other lives, other souls.