On slipping.


her best friend emailed me after i sent a few feelers out, she killed herself shortly after the hurricane.

what a jerk.

what a beauty.

she said she’d found her soulmate, and she never gave me that flapper dress.


Calla lilies, Bert Savoy

i pressed the lily into the pocket at the back of my journal
                                 where ticket stubs
                                 bumper stickers
                                 business cards go,
             the back is mottled
                   the structure is alive with the flame of the evening,
             the carpal crunches like bones when i press it with my knuckles, deep dull on the back of my hand. Two ovaries and a stamen, gender variance, male impersonator.

                                         my words smell like honey and cigarillos
                                         the bosom of goddesses tucked away in a book.