Performed December 17, 2019: Full performance
Featured poem Pacific Grooves published online at creativecolloquy.com

Washington Beaches
cold seas that reflect muddy skies
you are like my Washington beach

with your scattered rocks and
driftwood turned shelter

I come to walk on your hallowed shores
to sort myself out

I come seeking strength from your storms

the ocean pushes everything else away
leaving just us as she laps at my legs

“what’s wrong?” the beach whispers
in sharp whistle through strong wind

you steal the thoughts from my mind
and drown them in the crashing waves

I scream, I feel lost, I feel empty
but as the wind quiets and your shores still 
I know without words you want me to go
and I do

I walk away with a stone in my hand
and a heavier feeling in my chest
yet I feel no longer uncertain
trailing new shoreline that you carve
so perfectly

Hammock
hidden in plain sight we rest
in our midst a book
written for you and me
tear-stained from
my eyes and yours
this is the epitome of us
it is here, in this hammock
I made love for the first time
you guided words out
of my lips that no other ears
had heard before
they drifted in the air between us

sinking into the nylon plastic
we laugh
nothing around us
is real
even as it is time to go
our mirage never faded
I watched your careful hands
undo the ties at each of
the trees, parallel
you left me there, hanging
in the branches by my tongue
somehow, I have
forgotten how to breathe

your eyes
they
resuscitate me

Pacific Grooves
Come, lie with me
It is just a matter of time before
The ocean pulls us away again
We must melt together like resin
Filling the wood grain grooves
Of a familiar coffee table
We, pale bodies, like marbled driftwood cities
Afloat, in the distance
There is nothing out there but us

Arsonist
stone-grey silence 
steeped in a daydream:

tell me to swallow my tongue

Morse code translated by
blinking in slow motion:

tell me suddenly I am not enough

I am made of electricity
I breathe lightening from my lungs
a storm sits at the tip of my lips
but all that comes out are
swarms of moths, charcoal
colored, like flakes of ash
their larvae stick
to the back of my teeth

tell me there is nowhere left to go

I will swallow a match
and lace these forests with silver,
burn them to the ground 

fan the flames, fuel the fire
I am a kerosene flask  
filled to the brim with desire
new stories, new ground,
I will no longer hold back

tell me there is nothing left
and I will rebuild from new ash

Wild Heart
let it guide you– your heart, that is
your very logical, very rational heart
let it push against your chest cavity
and drag you towards her
she will write stories with you
she will put the pen in your hand
and scribble the ink for you
on the rippled, waterlogged pages
of your life
there’s just too much to do
to ignore this, listen to it
so many more rivers to cross
carrying her on your back
a young, feverish, love hot as
cherry coals leftover in
the firepit as you both sleep
as red as rubies, wet and sandy and pure
you’re just scamps, the two of you
listen to it, let it guide you to her
make the nights before curfew
live for the nights when you don’t
listen to the drum of fervor that beats
between her breasts: deep down
you know she, too,
has a wild heart