Two Poems



Here lies the completed works of a trace memory

slightly hinting at a secret that probably

should never be revealed if one wishes to

enjoy it fully

               drawing pain

from the same lost moments

where fear offered just the right amount of safety

in exchange for a lifetime of

agonizing regret

                            relived with such succulence

that an outside observer may take us to be

drowning in bliss

                             regret is recycled potential

flushed away to avoid having burnt it up

in something so frozen as a book






Green is a monster with witch-colored skin

it takes thousands of roaring beasts with rotating teeth

each week to keep it at bay - the world over


insects that drink our blood guard the medicines

hidden within its lushness


from afar, its orb pushes us faster to the moment of panic

fearing it will outrun us


the endpoint of all war - the world over


 we follow it in movies, investigations

the answer is always green

What does anyone want from a corpse? green

the earliest cells made sugar from the sun

strengthened their walls

and the factories still run