I am Thetis. Or, I am she who does the dipping: my pen in the ink. Or, I am not myself at the nib, I am Thetis. Or, it is my touch […]
Autofiction
Untitled
Is this the verse that unfolds me? Must I listen to its secrets; must I let it watch me? Is this the verse that is overworked, the one that is read and […]
Intimacy
If these words are glass then they might be looked through as a slide in a microscope, surprised at its own capacity to bear a piece of life under the smothering touch […]
Waters
which do not recover themselves, do not set roots under time, which flap between language and sound and cannot be translated or pooled neatly without eating and eating. Waters […]
The Poem which does not begin, but is exposed
Mornings are not made for pretence; they are not voyeurs, either, but they are concerned with nakedness, or a state of being bare that tends to embarrass. And, because they […]
Resident Poet
Poetry and journalism may not seem like the most natural friends. Journalism is where words sacrifice themselves for the good of communication and clarity; poetry, on the other hand, is where words […]