This, Too, Is Distinction
Tonight the candle twines fire with fire, braided flame blooming in the bowl of my hand. It hovers—lucent, tender— in the pause between ease and ache, a flicker caught…
FORM 42‑L (rev. ∞) — BUREAU OF EMOTIONAL CONTRABAND
I'm not even sure if this one counts as poetry, but click through to find out……
Ode to Lorlatinib
Little pink tablet, smooth-edged promise, stamped plainly: Pfizer on one cheek, 25 LLN on the other— three pressed nightly through foiled windows, serials and stamps faint as breath in aluminum…
⸺
That night, we traded tales of a world barely held together by threads. You asked which one I would snip if handed shears sharp as silence. I answered, without a…
Our Ghosts Are Present Tense
Prague's morning folds like an old letter, its edges softened by time and loss, a city of survived silences, trams tracking scars across cobbled skin. I'm…
Air Pressure
Grief doesn’t whisper, it thunders— a storm inside, relentless, pushing, pressing, pounding my chest until I can't catch my breath. I don’t know how to hold…