Death and the Symphony
I remembered you on stage in Montreal with your guitar. How could you have picked up that gun?
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On the North Shore
“The sensual wetness of the sand beneath my feet is balm to my seared soul. The siren song of waves beckons.”
Abiola Regan Poetry Collection
My blue ocean sadness. Kept from you, hidden from view. So I keep docking at the same port of hurt.
Medicine Child
The warmth of your small body seeps through cracked exterior penetrates deep into this caked clay.
Half Life
My bullet has been eroding into my spinal cord for the last ten years, the sandbar under my feet slipping away..
Dear Barbie Arm on the Corner of Fifth and Market,
This isn’t about you. It isn’t about the Barbie you once belonged to, or the kid that Barbie might still belong to. It isn’t about my own kid’s Barbies…
Agape
Your love wasn’t conditional – It was trapped inside a heart afraid to beat out loud. It was off in the distance.
On My Doorstep
When I unfold the paper there’s what appears to be a bunch of feathers. As I reach for them I discover it’s a bird’s wing.
Firewood
The sand is raked perfectly into lines of dried ravines. Water in the tetsubin, ready for gyokuro.