the old woman kneels
in the empty church
a relic
among the freshest of
sins

Sticks and Stones

how is it
that verbs are
actions
and yet just
words?

Growing Pains

if I could water
my garden
with the tears
of my own eyes
I would
but I cannot feel
its growing pains
and so I must use
a hose

i have soft
baby skin
stretched tight
across chalky
dead bones

To Mirth, Wherever She May Be

lick my legs
i am dripping with laughter
it pools by my feet
as you nibble my toes

Read My Palm

read my palm
the imprint of your
cheek
is still fresh upon it
ink drying
from where I slapped you
in an effort to write
a wrong

The Meaning of Life

sometimes i wonder why
we bother
to illuminate
some parts of the city
and not others
but i realize
they are only illuminated
because we make it so
why
then
not?