Discretionary Love

Fish Stock As A Metaphor For Love The housewife making fish stock is trying to find her husband in the liquid. The leftover heads bob

painting, for d. venus in a twilight sky over houses on fire invisibly and nowhere near the ocean dark rooms without human voices stood in

Some notion of her face and like a forest on fire by desire for a spark I am happy, my skin burns, blood to the

He told me love was invisible but his gestures would make me see it. The myriad of attention showered on me was refreshing… if not

8:14 a.m. Green Train Boston riding west that’s her girl the dream dangling from a strap undulating the uneven track eyes pale emeralds apple cheeks

Suburban Priorities The yard is cut; trimming done. Both floors are dusted and vacuumed. Each bathroom is spotless. The wash is folded and put away.

Night time has fallen, as we collapse after hours snaked about our naked body parts while a bottle of cab sits empty in its ice.

What beats me to the ground and breaks my teeth Wants to tell me how to stand, wants to ask me why I don’t smile

10 years old. I gave her a plastic rose on Mother’s Day And I said to her, half-lying to myself: this rose, Unlike the 10

Ash confetti shrouds campfire confessions Flickering between the last two awake As they bake tinfoil trial and errors And ember smouldered smores Smoke wanders towards

If you are my neighbor, I will love the trees You plant for your child To swing alone in the wind. If you were my