NaPoWriMo #7

They all whisper in

languages I do not

know, yet (and never will). Languages

that no textbook

or graduate student

or revised code protects.

We are an ocean

that cannot remember the


We are a generation

cruisin’ for a bruisin’

as my mother would say

in her language.


NaPoWriMo #6

Would I behold a gift so frail

and fragile? One that I would fail

to give its due? Unless, of course,

your wish for me to take and source

a rose you’ve held for twenty years

is honest, I should have no fear.

But I do. I fear it will be

that something you regret with me.

NaPoWriMo #4

A second morning hits my

eastern window at 6 p.m.

when the hospital meets

the sunset. I wonder how

many of the windows

are full of conditions

that curse the omen of

the end of the day.

I wonder how many

smiles sneak out as the clouds

turn yellow,

tugged along by the wind.

NaPoWriMo #3

The sky, askew in my

perspective, shouts rain

like a judgment

for those who need something

to stay alive.

“Be immortal,”

says the sky.

“Do not find what feeds you.

Be free from the bonds

of necessity.

Be one link, not

a chain.”

It’s true.

What good is a chain?

NaPoWriMo #2

Regret clings on my hands and

my lips and stains my eyes grey.

I would be a terrible choice

for our world’s first

time traveler.

I would go back and stop

myself from ever saying,

“I love you,” to those other girls

so when I told

you it would feel new,

totally yours.

It would smell like a baby,

and you could hold it to your chest ,

whisper its name,

promise it you would stay there

until it fell asleep.

NaPoWriMo #1

This, here, is the grease knife

I tore my ear drum with after

the seventh dream I had

where you said you were still

alive, and I decided

I never wanted a voice

to stick so tight to me again.