Monthly Archives: December 2014




Tonight he’s bent

at the waist, arms outstretched

like airplane wings, legs akimbo. Not his best pose,

but each time I visit the bookstore I find

him changed. It’s a semblance of life,


despite his featureless face. Maybe a reflection. Last week,

he was upright, and his posture and arms clearly meant

What’s up, bros? I liked that one. The week before,

he was hugging himself, crouched

down. Something bad happened that week. Perhaps


next week, I will finally muster the courage

to touch him, to leave him

posed just so.



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Ariel Losing His Tooth

Ariel Losing His Tooth

My friend aches
in his twelfth year,
lower left fang
hanging loose,

but he rises, on unsteady legs, head
tilted as if to question, Do I know you?
each time I check on him, which might be every hour,
God knows.

I know he’s fading–
each time we touch, a little less
camaraderie, a little more apprehension,
as though.                                                    As though
we both accept.


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