Poetry
Sweet Certainty
a beast of shadow and swirling smoke
moon-stalker and mist-bane
all curling claws and clenched teeth
followed me through the night
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Poetry
Poetry
Shapeshifting Recovery Staff
Your clients are—more often than not—
helpless, a stack of unsorted organs
kept pulsating by the will locked inside
Poetry
A Bargain Made in the Monster’s Shadow
They say a mountain vista looks loveliest in the golden hour, and
lunar landscapes most fully reveal themselves in quarter moons;
light and dark embrace to lift each other.
Poetry
Good Morning, Wolf—
Your mouth is a red door of blossoming velvet. I knock three times, your belly skinned, an open tender thing. I peel back fur; your insides flower wet against my touch.
Poetry
consumed
my lover has peculiar tastes;
her cravings are unnatural.
she apologises for her appetite
Poetry
graveyard of butterflies
in my vision, I taste happiness. I watch the sun’s dance & listen to the music of laughter. I run through a garden & somehow, I am a child again, trying to catch butterflies but they keep slipping through my fingers; like happiness, like love, like everything else I chase.
Poetry
Zooming Past Shotgun Houses
I captured the sorrow you sent me
like a star
it burned my palm
when it promised to nourish
Poetry
when i die
when i die i like
to think about the life
i lived. i like to be
alive again every time
Poetry
At the Sight of My Grave, I Stumble
First,
There is the procession of the snakes.
A wave of speckled heads with their thrilling patterns,
the tangle of their bodies as they weave
Poetry
Blacula
The first line began as the heart of a much larger story about a group of Queer, Black vampires. But the more I ruminated on this question, the more paths I followed that revealed so many different ways death, undeath, and resurrection have been central to being Queer and Black in America.
