1/7/16

seven brick sisters
hug the hillside
black lacquer porches
entwined like
ringless fingers

1/6/16

i have always known
these sugartooth houses

the scent of skin that
lingers
around the front door

1/5/16

vein of silt, obscene

washed from the white stalk;

pale moons of celery 

to pile on your plate, pound

to threads between your tiny teeth

1/4/16

maman is out, so stay mon cher
drink rum under cock feather crown
and laugh, cigars and bay leaves
I dug your grave so forgive my touch;
poor mouth packed tight with cemetery mud

1/3/16

gray of slate, tongue of silver
a pile of grey sticks in morning fog
crust of rime, sheet-metal morning
and the momentary shock:
blue sliver of eggshell in dead grass clasp

1/2/16

matchsticks and thread
beget bone-marrow miracles
in a mile of gold foil,
the shaky latin of nuns
gone brown with age

1/1/16

scrape the pot clean,

fill your mouth with coins

and weedy greens -

bitter alchemy of

survivorship