"Hold her down. It’s better if she can’t breathe, a waste
of breath. When she faints, waspish, the device
is a couch with a low back. Trigger ligaments."

from my Pushcart nominated poem "Girltrap" up on the Scoundrel Time website.

"Every boy she’s ever fucked
without a condom scientists say
peppered her
peppered her with his DNA"

from my poem "Chimera" up on the Yes Poetry website.

"On the soft lamplight dawn of the day you leave me,
I have you. A last match tucked in an inside pocket.
We crook into the brash belly of bed,
twist into the rich whiskey grip of thighs."

from my poem "How a Living Organism Produces Light" up on the One website.

"Let’s drink until our hearts
forget we’ve been apart, forget that hearts
are just two-fisted vessels of muscle, wondrous

from my poem "Your Mask is a Gift" up on the Cider Press Review website.

"When you’re 13 & U wake up with a body like
your head don’t know,
but your body does." 

from my Prince tribute poem "Freak" up on the Barrelhouse website. 

"there is no one at the table in the image
stark against the blue sky at the top.
clear soaring soprano. I stand outside
the image in silence like a gash."

from my Tupelo Press 30/30 poem "The Sorrowful Lover Stands" up on Melancholy Hyperbole.

"Beneath the storm stippled surface, the manta ray’s great gills flex,
the iron grate of a furnace venting.
Flames lick and chew."

from my Randall Jarrell Prize winning poem "Failure to Obliterate" up on storySouth.

"Keep your shirt on,
                                    she says,
and I know she means wait,
be patient, calm down,
but I can’t help but think
about what would happen
if I took my shirt off."

from "Keep your shirt on" up on Hobart.

"I imagine you cruising the boulevard at two
a.m. in your dead mother’s car, watching the girls
sway out of the bars, hands resting on the soft curves
of their girlfriends’ waists..."

from "Your Own Lecherous Heart" up on Waxwing.

"I want to kiss you, but
I open the car door, and it is raining.
I know the cloth seat will only keep our heat
for the amount of time it takes to unfold into the wet night
and you behind me."

from "Back Seat Event" up on Rappahannock Review.

"I push and twist the needle tip onto the pen designed for children;
the sharp punctures the rubber membrane of the small glass vial.
I pierce my daughter’s thigh, fatty enough for insulin."

from "Something I Know" up on Night Owl.