These are thoughts too

The most unusual cries are reverberating into the atmosphere,
bouncing from concrete walls to traffic sounds. Part loon, part howl; indistinct, yet through it a thought pierces the surface. . . people are. And it wasn’t exactly a thought thought in words as much as a collage of images, maybe a montage of sorts. In a nanosecond; people are. Here we exist together in this, whatever it is. This life we’ve made for ourselves. We are a part of this nature. We are to commerce as the crow is to songbird. And now I’m thinking that these cries are thoughts too. And I’m having a hard time distinguishing the inside
from the out.

It feels good (a non-binary poem or a pronoun poem)

After To a Poor Old Woman

By William Carlos Williams

crunching computer keys
sitting at the desk wearing
a curved bodice. Straight
and long black hair

It feels good to them.
It feels good
to them. It feels
good to them.

You can tell the way
they walk through the office—
bare ankles and flats
mindful of every step

Comforted yet somehow
isolated; vulnerable
to every word and silence.
It feels good to them

Peel the Skin

If when the skin peels away
you bleed orange slices and mango sweat,

then you’ve been spending too much
time with the clouds.

If, however, you find the image
of a snake, or other cold-blooded reptile

you might look in a mirror

to find the septuagenarian you
staring back at you—

this is when the real magic happens!

How I Know

How I Know

Lately I’ve noticed
her noticing the ex-
pressions on my face
when I read to her at
night. She watches my
face almost as closely
as the pictures on the
page. She un-scrunches
my scrunched-up fore-
head and smiles at my
smile. Is this trans-
mission? I think so.
This is how I know
she’ll love
reading too.

Passages to Hades

In the silence between words is the yawning gap of my loneliness and beyond this seemingly endless abyss the nation-state borderline rages like singed leafy edges holding on hard to what use to be