Prognosis Negative  Another ICU, a thicket of cords. It’s the year of nearly dying; have the doctor on standby, to graft the family tree t...

  Kelp   Doubtweed roots into the seams of my sidewalk square. Concrete breaking off into a sea of kelp and pitch-tar, snapped from the h...

  Brain Diving   In the dark of my skull, we strike the flare  on a lobe—they still burn in cerebral fluid. The walls light up, cognition...

Bathhouse For Christmas will you get me down for an appointment at the bathhouse?  The raptors can nibble the dead bits inside me, like ...

Mental Path The doctor said I wasn’t broken, again. Turns out: it was boredom.  There’s a hierarchy inside of me, keeping me awake and wor...

Bridges to Nowhere (Tidewater) I’ll tunnel to you from my outcrop, funded by some sweaty s&p fortunates; you can watch as we construc...

Limes The lemon tree on the porch  was apparently growing limes.  I forgot what I’d planted two years earlier. The fruit went untou...