Jackson

I say about leaves nothing I’m thousands hanging in one, composting on of millions, wet, eaten, churned to mush, a leaf of billions, trillions the sunshine First published in Uneven Floor Read more

The hanging fronds of my tree swing with the wind When it blows a lot they move a lot They thrash, slap, whip, yank at themselves When it blows a little they move a little, back and forth between the pull of the air and the hold of the tensile trunk In the odd hour… Read more

Gmail showed a green dot beside your name just under the green dot beside mine We the two awake dots among the sleeping greys One easy click to chat you, reach through the net, pop up a smile— One easy click for you, too. Maybe your screen had many other dots equally green, and mine… Read more

A bookish young hipster named Sam once entered a poetry slam. When his poem came third He declaimed, “How absurd! This whole fucking concept’s a sham.” Read more

The light has to get somewhere, touch something, to exist You take acid as we’re sitting in the air The old woman pours whitewash over her husband’s head We’re on the left There’s no box, no comfort zone Anything but raw paper is a compromise Two girls with acne and stringy bleached hair Occupy Wall… Read more