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The Speed of Dark

I have studied and become intimate with the speed of darkness.

The Spooning and the Fork

This would not be a wooing meal. I was cooking my man into submission.

The Storm of the Century

She often feels something kinetic between herself and younger men.

The Story of a Scar

“As your brother, I ask you, how did you get that scar on your face?”

The Story of an Hour

There would be no one to live for; she would live for herself.

The Strength of Fields

He was warm that way, always tender, and maybe that’s the worst part.

The Stroke

He glowered even as a little child. Maybe because he has your bad eyes.

The Territory of Being Beautiful

Between me and the sky is a screen door and a whole mess of wind.

The Truth

I try to imagine him wanting only a Toblerone bar for his birthday.

The Truth the Dead Know

No one’s alone. Men kill for this, or for as much. And what of the dead?

The Vending Machine at the End of the World

He cut down on beer and moved into the hotel that had my name.

The Visiting Room

We spread. Kneel. We’ll come out missing parts. This we know.

The West Oakland Project

West Oakland was characterized by unemployment, poverty, and blight.

The Western Tailor

You never see Westerners, so you don’t think of them as human beings.

The White Cat

He didn’t mind, he insisted, that he loved her more than she loved him.

The Winterist

Owen’s head throbbed, his ears ached, and an anvil sat on his chest.

The Women

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

The Word

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

The Writer

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

The Young Widow

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

Then, It Was So

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

They Say the Heart Wants

The time a man kissed my hand when we met. Though he’s been dead for decades now, I still feel the kiss.

Things on Which I’ve Stumbled

Third Act

You retell the story and I wait for my cues, when to smile, nod.

This Is How It Goes

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

This Place We Call Home

Her family was still poor and hungry and scared.

Three Poems

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

Three Poems

I have so many T-cells I’m afraid of forgetting their names.

Three Poems

Men are so delicate, must be given many portals. I try to be game.

Three Poems

You linger in the dimming aftermath, grayer and fainter than a breath.