Prose & Poetry

Eight months I waited,glancing at you every day as I walked in my room, wondering—for a

tonight is the highschool graduation the culmination of teenagers saying i want sex and to be

In the middle of the night When you wake and can’t go back to sleep Close

Come sit with me for a moment. I am the observer mind and you built me.

After Diderot Speak of the devil and mark The changes that occur. It is             The

             One can hear the hair of the dead grow —

at dinner, he tells me about the anolis he found,hands animated, describing the pulseof its throat,

On most days I have to remind myself not to go the places you went when I was