My neighbors collect babies and

I envy them their cornucopia of giggles.

They have had their eye on my storehouse of sleep for months,

and if I didn’t need it like blood I would arrange a trade.

My pill plant is growing chubby little tablets

dry as math.

Harvest day is here.

The Life of White

Beneath the whitest pearl sky

the scent of pink lemonade wafts.

The sun is glass.


Fields trimmed in lace.

Hoards of human paraphernalia

burning, under the magnifying glass.


It’s the life of white to destroy in gentle tides.


The bitter angels in us,

the blacker angels outside.


My blood pearls. A necklace to wear.

My spirit in my high heels. Give me a scotch.

Give me talcum powder.

Embalm the fog that veils my name.

Lady Lazarus

Lady Lazarus is inconsiderate,

is me,

is leaking.


I’m the jacket I wear when I’m cold,

my body the lampshade

through which my power dims.


Heart half eaten,

a delicacy like mitten snow.


Why are there no bridges through the white?


bridges of scarves

of maniacs

of salacious science?


It is science that brings me a piece of me

in a syringe, in a capsule.


Oh, thank you, Science!


Sunken souls mourn anchors

that brawl beneath the brink.