Now, this is most important: Before the light in their eyes flicks off
you must ignite the wick, set it near the head, be ready to reignite it in
case breath or wind or rain snuffs out the flame. If you trip, the
mortal’s thread will be at risk of seizure because the distance

As she’s borne softly on the waves,
salt hangs aloft, brining her lips.
Palm trees sway on nearby shores,
but unease gathers in her heart.
It’s paradise, yet she’ll not forget:
her home feels like it’s not enough.

If you love me, you will burn.
Put your cheek against mine
and feel the heat my bones
release into the world. We plant
ourselves in dry soil and gather

There’s a fierce audacity about water:
the way it barges into palimpsest buildings unannounced
the way the buildings are sucked into a void
the way the water barrels our bodies into a concave
cross-referencing us with open tombs.

bedtime is the worst
mama off giggling and cooing
with her latest boyfriend

me sent to my room
ordered not to come out

the thing beneath my bed
oozes out and wants to talk

when the smog finally devoured the dying sun,
the creatures of the night
made a throne of the carnage
and a kingdom of the earth

The dark house sits brooding, high on the hill;
heedless of time passing, of age and decay,
my love walked its halls—he’s roaming them still.

*Dedicated to my five-year-old self

It’s always me
in my carrot cake tweed jacket
its caramel collar taut around my neck
speckled with goosebumps

It’s the first thing they tell you in Temporal Navigation 101:

Time is water,
But it knows no gentle ebb,
Only the rage and riot of rapids.
You can’t go back, the Temporists say;
The currents are too strong.

Early in the morning
I can hear my neighbor’s TV
Reverberating through the tin foil
Walls of her FEMA trailer