Ars Poetica, age 4

On the first day of preschool I am drawn to the same question. While other kids ran towards the blocks & kitchenette, I beelined to the globe in the corner of the room. 

My mom tells this story when I call home & get quiet towards the end. She says my four-year-old hand caressed that plastic world & beheld its cerulean tilt & spin: if nobody can live here, then why does it exist?


I thought it was better that way, for the cricket to be swallowed & carried inside a body so that it would never know lonely.

poem without awakening

when the sea swallows us / whole—which will be / soon—i will learn to / swallow the whole sea.

64 Dimensions*

If not this America, flee
into other ones below it.