Mr. and Mrs. Medusa at the Macy’s Perfume Counter

She stood in the front
Of the silver and black glass counter.
Her fingers ransacked the perfume,
Stone skin reflecting in the onslaught
Of mirrored ads and a solo saleswoman –
Ms. Fake Green Eyes was fond
Of a particular smell called Trauma or Mercy,
Some obscure name meant
To bore temptation like eggs from an roc’s nest.

Fake Eyes presses down on the black and gold
Spray top, a mist pours down onto my wife’s wrist,
The aftershock of a coastal storm – two presumed lost.

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Immemorial

That greedy wheedler the aspen 
shakes its golden leaves. In earth,
its shoots snatch another foot.

And a young woman suddenly died, 
quietly, from a quiet well-loved life.
No cause is known. Her eyes 
that flicked like lizards closed.

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Her Published Life

Oh, I am so chock full of every gruesome spotch on this winter Midwest beach               different iterations ………………………….. days swinging by as we fly into the open lake            She is my foggiest Memory: no one meant to eat this on their plate, head song          smashed against the outside of a door, the brunt of […]

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A Letter to the Men I Know

I really apologize for the way I’ve acted around you lately. Sometimes I feel like I must look like I’m drowning, looking for the nearest life raft to save me. Let’s start here first– that is not fair for me to do to you. You are not a white knight and I’ve never been a […]

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