Diagnosis with the Crypt Keeper The first time I meet my psychiatrist, he asks if we’ve met before. This does not bode well. He asks...

This room has four walls, but it is also without walls, expanding past the fragile steel of my skull. A fragment of me looks at rows and...

Hill of Beans The doughnut shop isn’t up to code; danger makes a delicious dish. Here, hello is flash-fried catfish. Go ahead, eat up,...

Lesson in Lockjaw My grandfather’s jaw is locked into the smoothness of my chin, a mechanism that helps me chew the fat at Christmas,...

Continuum of Care Pen clicks mark time in a unit where no one gets to leave. This purgatory; sins never really purged, impossible. No sin...

As so many of you may well know, there is a lot to be said about Yelp reviews. The best thing to say about them, of course, is how...

Until I was about eight, I thought my grandpa was a Spaniard. This may have had something to do with him looking a lot like Antonio...

We aren’t ready. When Sebastian holds the door, and the sky blinks into blackness, we aren’t ready. When everyone is left standing in the...

I’ve been working on some really big projects these last few months, which means less time for writing smaller pieces like short stories...

Writing in the middle of a pandemic is hard. Everything is hard. But I assure you that I am working, or at least trying to work. This is...

Mudbug Mood I’m thinking about crawfish and the way they boil brackish in the high heat of June, seasoned spicy in a galvanized washtub...

ATLAS, part 2 restless road rage knots you in asphalt ribbons tied to sunset suicides––glass shards bleed out into the next life full of...

Sheol My littlest sister braids her Barbie’s hair in the middle of her room, and brings some cogent questions: I understand the sun...

Whenever I finish a project, I feel empty. It’s not a scooped out feeling, it’s more of a “I’m not here” feeling. It’s like existing in a...

Autotomy I’m passions paled away ashy, waiting  for a word to flutter, hinging on this  fingernail, and that one scratching  out phrases...

The Forgetting Season Gideon’s fur finally grew back,  two years after you shaved him  that summer, despite his undercoat.  His dappled...

This is for your mother, Kathleen. Even after I stopped loving you, I couldn’t move her from my heart. This poem was written when my...

Variables Climatiques La mer a crevé dans rien comme vous l’avez fait    il y a six ans maintenant; votre corpse est une coquille, un...

Holy Ground After I tell him I’m tired of crashing into someone else’s desperation, I reach for you and conquer misplaced loyalty with a...

My piece “in conversation with yet another therapist i stopped seeing” was announced as a finalist in the Lascaux Prize in Poetry...