The Process x River People

Settling my hand
on a bur oak’s 
bare chest. 
Flailing distantly 
for the giving reach
and feeling encouragement 
from limestone
crevices beneath -
I leap. 
Hints of living
where fish
swarm in silver darts
for lunch
and never hunger.
She holds enough.
They have two children
in thick, wool hats.
A transparent bond
below a howling dog’s
wounded voice
caroling softly 
across the bristling stones. 
More here!

Limón

Sometimes, 
if only cherries
had a kiss. 
Sprouting 
endearing pestilence. 
Most, yes - 
alright - 
all
of the time, 
I’d rather 
have lemons’
early dew. 

in the soft torrential curls that
pool at the base
in that fresh morning milk
comes the caustic awakening
sonrojo en su sonrisa
the same flavor as sunrise

I’d rather 
tener palos para
construir una cabaña.
I’d like you to
scratch my chest,
claw at the limbs,
burn from the roots,
and watch my fruit



fall. 
In collaboration with Caitlyn Salinas. My deepest gratitude and respect.

Could Never Pretend

I am not the carbon copy,
but rather the rough
suffocating diamonds.
In these dank caves,
nothing comes through -
signals upon waves
upon kilojoules of pixels.
Time to turn off the news. 

These Mutts are Near

No dogs on the bridge.
No bikes either,
for that matter. 
But definitely no dogs
without leashes. 
That’s how they get you:
you say, 
dogs without leashes,
we can cross that bridge
when we get there.
All of a sudden,
you can’t cross with the dog,
so, you ditch the leash
and boom,
you’ve violated the sacred
oath.
No dogs without leashes.