Collection


Jesus dumps a jar of buttons on the table. He’s looking for monkey eyes. For security. For a way to keep his pants up. He needs something to thread. A way to make sense of the black holes being discovered in his sleep. A method of approach against the cold. He separates the change, the bits of lint, the liquor receipts. A wheat penny clicks against a Buffalo nickel. Jesus gets out his solder gun. He needs to melt metal, fashion a backing, make a little unexpected spectacle. Something to reflect the sun, the strain, the string theories fraying his mind.

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Pink Pigs and Orange Horses


The night drinks the moonlight all night. You think you are the lost princess, but your hair isn’t long enough. Someone has been riding your giraffe. A wolf is trapped in your bathroom; he huffs and puffs against the wall of the tub. Someone has been rifling through your toy box. There is no explanation about the cookies. Here today, gone tomorrow. Oopsy Daisy. Utt-O. Baby Princess Tiger Lily. Spaghetti O’s. What sounds does a goat make? Someone has been wearing your clothes and they fit just right. The sun is raised by a rooster. The lost princess never gets her hair brushed.