Poetry

These lines were meant to trace / a map we all could follow

Don’t try to fall asleep / just rest your body / and rest will come / when it’s meant to

On the front of the garage / above a wall that was a door / is a metal loop / screwed to crumbling melamine

Barbie Dream House on the curb

The wheels on the suitcase / go round and round

Can we just / gaze? / she asks, cozy

Nebuchadnezzar’s epithelials / are trapped beneath my nails

Some times / aren’t / Some days / don’t

Eight-hundred slender fingers / on a bound hand / gently kiss the contours / of the plane

The natives fling themselves / with abandon / into walls