You write your fortune on a five dollar bill and hand it to the attendant. The five dollar bill passes through many hands. They all inherit your fortune. I believed in magic for long enough that magic became part mindset.…
woodpecker feathers dog hair cattail fluff woven with cedar bark in a delicate plaid a Makah blanket mud-buried 500 years on the not-so-Pacific wet northwest coast a woman’s eye her craft inventing pleasing colours and geometries echoing patterns constructed by…
Old ghosts, who do not mock songs of rot-shod Sokoto droughts, long softly, lost, to lock moss on cold rock, on cold bogs to fox-trot, to toss hollow sobs on robots tomorrow, to hot-hop, to drown shock-floods of Opobo ‘’hotdogs’’,…
Tonight, suddenly, Saul Leiter. Then, you. I remembered the night when in my dream, I misspelt Saul as Seul. Lonely, alone. Single. Only. In another vertical dream, a man walked into my bedroom with a pink umbrella but he had…
Friends, today in my head, desire is something else.
The flower of hope smells for me of another’s loyalty.
I have found another light in the morning breeze.
In the dawn of truthful appearances, the breeze is something else.
She does not exist
But to staff torment
She is vengeful earth
Unsleeping with foment,
Infernal glass eyes:
There is a patch of clover in my back garden. If I stand in it at night, I can hear a crow calling my name. It calls my true name, not the name I answer to during the day. In…
i. In the jar the twins float, each the other’s anchor to a world they’ll never see. From one angle: a comforting embrace, heads curled to one another’s necks. From another: an assault, eyes screwed shut, gums hungry. ii. My…
Plattered slivers, curled cinnamon, and the frame of yarrow. The oily residue of mother’s homemade salad dressing, decanter lid open – rim, glimmering with oregano feathered oil. In this one: patina patterned sidewalk, moss clawing through cracks and…
We all sleep above our ancestors– it began and ended with bone, a rotted tooth, a thigh broken, honeycomb and marrow. Near Ban Chiang, a pointed-face dhole whistles to the balcony of stars, quick feet through leaves as the hunt…
