Pink Moon Carries

forgotten, wasted years

when I was in ruins

before I claimed

to stand so tall


I lie there

letting smoke choke

perhaps I’m wiser now

but back then it was all heartfelt


the nativity scene

distracting old dreams

twirling broth

bowl and spoon reunite


I owe the pizza shop fifty cents

can’t keep my word

never could

since all of it is spent


bitten frost

subconscious droplets

pretending not to know

what it all meant


broken throat

and sore hands

city litter

formless sand


A Porcelain Beyonce

Just another night, happens to be a Saturday.

He’s hanging out in a storefront.

The only other with him happens to be a porcelain wind-up musical doll.

Which also happens to be a cat wearing a dress.

He’s drinking Yuengling, smoking Turkish Silvers.

His first pack in two weeks. The nicotine left his system completely.

The desire came back.

He’s wearing torn jeans and his absent girlfriend’s sweater over an old flannel.

The cat’s dress is green and floral.

The fake cat could be considered creepy, even eerie by others.

He bought it at a thrift store in Camden a while back.

He named her Beyonce, after that stray cat that would jump through the front door

and wander throughout his old house on Christian street.

None of his roommates in that house understood her. They’d literally throw her out.

He would let her go into the basement- his room.

“I miss her.”

He takes another swig,

and one last drag,

as he stares through glass

into the street where she might still be, hopefully.



i didn’t know the alphabet

like my sister did


i’d rather look out the window

when we were one plus two


the cars glimmered

on the asphalt


they were static

like you


you don’t exist

i desist


i used to resist

without essence