Category Poetry

Because you can name something, does that make it good?

the crackling grey gloom

At home we heard the music, held the fabric of the madras

Community of giraffes gathering at the shore

The current ripples into our giggles, our laughs

Dead boys wear sun-bleached keffiyehs on the walls of a stone city

Cattails spread across the old parking lot

I grew up like a speeded prayer