I feel small. There are so many big personalities in this room, laughing and shouting and insulting and bragging and on and on in a cycle that repeats every day.

Late at night, when all distance is darkness, and your eyes have been closed for a long time now, I will still be texting you Trying, trying, trying to get a message through

When the night sky is inky with dark paint and freckled with stars sending their light across billions of miles When the sparrow chirps in quiet announcements to the trees around its home

Do you ever lay in bed with this feeling in the empty cavity of your abdomen Wishing you had fire at your fingertips

There's an empty stretch of highway in front of us, No other cars around. We are quiet.

This field was never meant to be a forest Trees never used to cram the air space;

I. there is lightning crackling under your nails and your fingers itch. they comb through the strands of your burnt-honey hair in an absent clumsiness. your eyes are far away. they are so bright i thi...

I. the heat from the fire seeps into the grass and shrivels it into tiny grasping hands. the stars rotate lazily far above in bright bursts sour on your tongue. the moon hides her face and her beams w...

A river god with no more purpose sleeps in this poem