More on: Poetry

I. I come into this world on a pair of earrings—a coil of light on her spined ear—hoopoe birthmark at her nape sifting the heft of the dhow—through her hair she wears the heaviest bells——ears cupped in shell weather she knows the price of a ticket across the black waters is not possible——— bismillah is…

god is the warm smell of a vcr —————————–in a room that feels safe. violence sits like a dog at the door, —————————–but god is the door we closed when playing playstation, —————————–the beanbag chair we shared. the door is now open, —————————–and there a man stands, looking like jesus torn from his cross, —————————–staining…

Duck-faced, the serio-comical sermon / Goes the way of confidence art on / A Holy Week spree of Menippean arson. / Heat without light.

A poem for the thin places. “I looked, but I saw / no craftsman, no tools. The buzz buzzed on.”

An elegy for the Flintstones. “It’s a trog-eat-trog world out there.”

Sometimes in the sound and the light / it grows so still / it’s possible to forget / you are moving through the air.

Night hadn’t brought forth its cache of new stars. / Nor mimosa trees folded their leaves. / She laughed, a bold and sudden laugh

When God calls you / in what voice do you respond?

The glory of the desert is to bless what diminishes

Matter is patient.