More on: poetry

There are two ways to marry: right and wrong.

They know the rules, and how to play the game. Their calculations yield a tidy sum.

Could she be leaning forward after faith, leaner for the habit of not looking, promised to the long, dry
braid of disincentive with incentive.

I get lost easily, even now.

In the dark, everyone is kind.

Is it wrong to believe I’m due what was promised?

The hells they reproach are strewn around them like asphodel. Above, the Milky Way shines in broad daylight, a hundred billion burning strips of paper.

c I was reeding you
see I was reading you
sí I was red in you

It would be fine my mother said, as we boarded the plane back from school, the taste of ginger from the holiday still riding my back teeth.

All is still. God has come and gone.