The saintless hold a disdain for history. Unfixed hearts pop and cramp along an axis which circumnavigates the ruin after terrible decisions. Proximity is better

On the long exhale home, your blood flows freely again in an artery opened with strength of metal, deftly done by the surgeon. We return

I don’t want to throw your words back at you, as I sit here, alone, spinning my records with thoughts of you in my head.

If you open me now, she says, you’ll see all my yesterdays carefully put up like home-canned tomatoes, peaches, pickles, beans—the bounty of summer stored

I remember 17, working weekends, my first real job, girl-boss of Housekeeping, trading soiled cloths for clean. First lover, I met you there. College boy,

in an alternate universe / I am 12 / and I do not seek suffering in starvation / believing hunger is my superpower / I

Early birds crave the first rays. Worms pray for mercy. Leftovers beg for attention. I’m left with the waste. I seize a single streamer, tie

They say hair holds memories And if that’s true I’m calling my barber. I want to erase the feeling of your fingers on my scalp

Leaves litter concrete bed, having succumbed to wind’s ecstasy. & we’re left picking unstrung emotions across the room, tooth-picking bliss, reliving every kiss. You can

No words in the mail, no words onscreen, nada in the tête-à-tête of fingers embracing in the waiting room. Silence disperses us like tear gas.

The sunlight feels like a blanket thrown on the floor because passion loses itself when it’s clean and organized, while the curtains betray the darkness,

Twilight creeps softly across the grass, and sunwarm rocks by the stream are cooling as the day slips away. An old man sips a martini

Within black walls, black floor shot through with red clay specks, beneath the picture, your favorite, with the red paint flung wide, canvas smoked and

Disordered Glosa for Richard Hope makes itself every day springs up from the tiniest places No one gives it to us we just notice it.

In the heart of this southern city where lady’s wear Sunday hats, eat grits and drink beer in mugs and where gents were once proper,