Empty
On creative depletion and living fully.
“When I die,
I want to die empty —
Devoid of all that I am:
my skills, my talents, my creativity —
With nothing left behind.”
(Full text available upon request or in PDF appendix.)
Of Flesh and Stone
A meditation on longing, mythology, and the brutal grace of desire.
“What sweet decay we dance upon,
the line between ecstasy and ruin,
drawn in blood and fruit,
the remnants of love, bruised—
my pain echoing in their cries,
the cruelty of man, not Lust,
that brings us both to our knees.”
the line between ecstasy and ruin,
drawn in blood and fruit,
the remnants of love, bruised—
my pain echoing in their cries,
the cruelty of man, not Lust,
that brings us both to our knees.”
(Full text available upon request or in PDF appendix.)
Strangers Still
A poem about residual love and self-erasure under the
pressure of loved ones.
“Posed to leave,
and never gone.
Let me carve out the pieces of me
that allow you to sink back in.
that allow you to sink back in.
I can’t keep it;
I can’t love it.
It belongs to you.
Please.”
(Full text available upon request or in PDF appendix.)
Rotting Affections
A pleading love, in the form of self-abandonment.
“But I know—staring at you—
I would love my roughed skin
into rot,
if you would look upon me
with your misty-eyed cruelty,
just once more.”
I would love my roughed skin
into rot,
if you would look upon me
with your misty-eyed cruelty,
just once more.”
(Full text available upon request or in PDF appendix.)
Homely
A poetic excavation of self, identity, and transformation through the metaphor of a haunted house.
“Still, in its dilapidation, I cannot take a wrecking ball to this place.
This place is a tomb of what could have been.
It is a cathedral of what I have become.
Homes can be people too.”
This place is a tomb of what could have been.
It is a cathedral of what I have become.
Homes can be people too.”
(Full text available upon request or in PDF appendix.)