Poets

I came in a bottle, a prize like the worm in the mezcal you swallowed in lieu of an apology. Isn't it lovely how I complement your fragile face?

for Baby Fae Since our dawning in the Great Rift Valley they have been our primordial homunculi, dog-faced shadows at the edge of our world.

The hickory thigh varnished to a gloss above the creaking metal knee feels nothing, not the tarnished brass thumbtack pushed into its grain,