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I was lying with electricity. I was already a story being told.

won’t you celebrate with me that every day has tried to kill me

Without a working title, a poem could muddle meaning, confuse purpose.

At the core, a daughter is a self-reckoning emptiness.

No more laughing like the waves. No more ocean of words to drink from.

You ask, Could we have coffee? No, my truth, I’m still on this side.

There were classes where you became a family. It was a kind of love affair.

Her cheek was like a plum about to burst and you had to close your eyes.

As a child I wanted to behold the elusive squid, the patience of eels.

I’ve got my hands around the man’s legs when I notice the blood.

You slouched on the couch, naked, in front of the air conditioner.

give me a fish and I will make a necklace of its sharpest bones

I read an article and learn that the gloomy octopus has three hearts.

and still it is summer and each day the sun arouses the kudzu