cemetery bed poem #28

I’ve felt four years, six years, nine years old most days... I’ve rarely felt this body age,  I’ve taken all the blather, and thwarted it to fit  the dialogue  that best suits this suffering. There are no truth in ghosts,  there are no truth in echoes. These voices belong to someone  other than me. How …

disregard poem #26

I am not well traveled, I hardly leave my house. My passport had been expired for decades, before I left to the Yucatán in 2017. I am afraid to fly, because it is unnatural, we are not birds. We are tedious flesh, obtuse and trivial. I feel the lightness and enormity of our skins in …