recipe for an intimate party / another pandemicon poem

Recipe For An Intimate Party (part icicle part hair one part liquor part of growing up) (part animal part of speech part of a crew becoming a part of pouring out) Prepare. It’s not a race it’s not about you it’s about flesh’s dip and eclipse of limbs and sweet slices of clamorous apples and…

another poem for the pandemicon

Red Shift The light never turns green. A deer jumps into the middle of the road. The road divides ahead, the streetsigns are handwritten and houses stand far from the sidewalk. The radio coughs static. The heat works. There’s always the chance we’re very, very lost. That cop signals and suggests we might call it…