Enjoy my Symptom

'I spit on any fresh green breast. / It’s a misdemeanor. You can build the rest / from airplane parts and Listerine.'

I Did This to My Vocabulary

'The moon is my alibi. My tenders throw hissy fits. / My scalp’s at the foot of the precipice. / My lume is spento, there’s a creep in my cellar. / You can stand under my umbrella, Ella.'


'I’d look up to them looming on street corners, / or down on them at night through my bedroom blinds, / crashing home from the Labour Club, mad drunk. / After a while I decided they must be unhappy.'


'The veil of weather, the hopeful smell / of just-cut grass, the who-knows-what / that goes on behind closed doors'


'When we got in my cousin said / let’s climb that hill. We had just / got in from Rome and Cantelice / twisted away from the second story / window in cobble and brick.'

I Guess You Had to Be There

Your life might need to take place in order for you to write your poems, but your poems should never be merely a record of your life taking place.