No Be Mine

I am nobody’s sculpture
to be displayed in a climate
controlled case. Or worse—

stored in an underground
vault and forgotten. I am

nobody’s monster
roaring and lethal
or grunting

and servile. I could be
Emily’s nobody.

I do
prefer toads over frogs.

Devil’s Bridge Shoal

Clay on their faces—
naked gestures
before jumping

off those cliffs
into the wild
wash. It’s not

over till our giant
returns for his rock
collection and pipe.


She tells me to locate
my anger—to let it spill
onto your grave. Lost. No belief

in the deconstruction
myth plotting out how
you hurt me. Did you? Did I

you? Were you merely a tragic hero
I fabricated to escape
the curse

of the Take No Heroes Hotel?
No matter what she says, I may just collapse
on the cold stone

and pretend to be a peony
fluttering in strange October air.


As he disappears
behind a mountain, she sighs
a sigh weighted in sadness,
in regret, in relief. As she remembers

each step they took
toward the bluff before night blanketed them
in desire, she sees a gull
on the rock she had reserved

for them. No longer a them,
she turns her back
to the ocean—no longer in need
of more salt.

Not a One Is Blind

Fold up those black bat
wings, try not to break
any bones. Would I stay drier
with a mature adult
protecting me overhead? 

Getting tangled
in hair is a myth. I could see you
if these clouds would disintegrate
is another. When I look up
it’s all concave and vital again.