I’m very proud to be part of the creative team at Conduit magazine and its book publishing arm, Conduit Books & Ephemera. Find us at www.conduit.org.
Here’s a long list of links to my own works published in various zines and journals, available in some form online:
"Poem Asleep," on Verse Daily
The leaves you are seeing
in the place where you live
may be beautiful, but if anything
the engine in the tissue matters.
Short story, “All the Bodies” in North Dakota Quarterly
“He must’ve been so afraid,” the neighbor said, but I guess anger must’ve been stronger when the old man brought the shotgun in.
"The Pinky of Great Sugi" in American Poetry Review
the strange entangled trees clinging to granite
and the stump of the dead Prometheus—
once the oldest living organism, cut for research.
"Motel South Dakota" in Twyckenham Notes.
The beaver is the most internet searched animal. It poses,
fat tail in its delicate hands,
on the fold-out luggage stand and speaks Beaver, close-
captioned direct to your vision.
"Here's to everyone past and missing, that life a journey of
"Speed Wobbles" in Enizagam.
Local nuns pray constantly in order
to keep a line open to the big whatever-it-is.
Meanwhile John goes silent
for ten rotations each orbit, and that
would make sense if sense wasn't a word.
"Entropic" and "A Brief Interruption" in Diode.
families & dream jobs & favorite
ballplayers & problem behaviors you’re trying to
reign in because you want to get it
right in this life & you’re grateful
for these friendships: real
good things you can feel
"A Moment for Authentic Shine" Spoon River Poetry Review, Editors' Prize.
To say heart in that trite way,
and girl when by now she’s fifty,
and real when the elapsing of all things into void
has been made abundantly clear.
"Capitol Street Pulse" and "Album" in American Poetry Review
Maybe it’s easier to believe in the glute as it rounds up from the back of the thigh
than the Jeffersonian column in the floodlight at dusk.
"Toward the Oblivious Factories," in Passages North
Let the world pass us by, Amen.
"Cousin," in The Golden Shovel Anthology
she flutters, threaded, rises
reaches back a hand up into
new blue nowhere, the
next next slash of sunshine
through a thousand acres of flax: there,
I say. For us.
"What Is Happening," and "Earl of Rochester," plus an interview, in Kenyon Review
What is happening
seems mainly about to happen—
a fade into a possible other
sandbox strewn with trucks and full
of buried Superballs (R. TM.).
"Sorry, I Can't Design Your Futuristic Bug Creature" Science Fiction Poetry Association, First Prize
When the millipede kingdom emerges
based on the wisdom of telepathically cooperative industry
and the bitchin’ karate possible
for creatures with a thousand legs,
the numbers shoot through the freaking roof.
"Freedom" and "Sam Says Everything" in American Poetry Review
She told me life began on a distant moon
which made life seem kind of middling, to me—
side-shelved and orbiting around
whatever the real real thing might be.
"Interval" in Colorado Review
On today’s date, a comedian
and a salesperson of air time
are divorcing down my block.
Their teenage daughter fronts a punk band
so collapse immediately becomes chorus.
"Wunderkammer" Ink Node Editors’ Choice
Rocks came alive when McGaferty applied
a tiny magnet to the blood.
He holds a rigor mortised gerbil in the photo
while his wife stands balanced on a gnome.
"A Sense of Proportion" in Academy of American Poets Poem-a-day
cast from stars, hidden in a federation
of equivalent times, distant trains
carrying sugar, coal, whole families beyond
deserts, imposing ranges, shimmering coastlines
said to define the spirit of my people.
"Strangely Pregnant" and "Origins," plus an interview in Driftwood 3.3.
In case a later researcher can hear
our ancient air I’m saying Judy, Judy
in sexually religious tones. Soon
everything will be narrated by James Earl Jones.
The mind is always running on multiple tracks, I think, but then I recognize that that very thought is swiped from audio production software. Thinking doesn’t work that way, probably.
It could be like a dream, at times—a distant possibility. Other times you could notice a distinct lack of it, like being out of syrup or not feeling loved.
"The Dream of Perfect Pants" and "Phil Bradley in Heaven" The Oneiric Moor
My pants became angry and vaporized
the sales force, and strangely, the image of
that moment became the catalogue ad
for Power Pants, which was branding I had
"Time," "Identity," and "The Future" in Hobart
Like a Matryoshka doll, you might go in and in until you’re living in a nice development on the outskirts of a rhizome, working nine to five at a lepton factory deep in the heart of Will Bulka’s kneecap, and that might be it: your core identity.
"Failing Science," and "Seeking Latino Star Wars Enthusiast: Must Love Dogs" in New Orleans Review
Have any of these Kenobi conundrums
ever led you to question
whether a Latino man named Juan somewhere
might carry the nickname Obi Juan?
Short Story "Private Noises" in Revolver
Really, it wouldn’t be any more fake than most of the stuff people say to indicate that they’re pleased with life. Instead of saying “thanks,” you’d just whimper in a rising, pleading kind of way. Instead of pumping your fist and going “yes!” you’d throw your head back and moan ejaculatorily.
Essay "Somewhere Near Paynesville, Maybe," in TAB: The Journal of Poetry & Poetics
I began to understand that any moment of any life could be profound, that meaning can't always be packaged, summarized, articulated. Life elapses through us, as energy elapses through all structures that assume and relinquish form within the brief flash of light and heat we call the universe. I would later know a religious scholar who would say, "there is an ecstasy in life unfolding over billions of years."
Creative Non-fiction "The Pajama Queen and the In-law-terloper" in The New Orleans Review
Essay "Stations" in Airplane Reading
I thought: when flying, one should be prepared to die. The obvious correlatives registered fully in my rational mind: when crossing the street one should be prepared to…. When slicing a day-old bagel…. When walking through cheat grass among boulders in the warmth of a late Nevada morning one should be prepared to die.
"Organism" and "Holiday" in The Offending Adam
Once I tried throwing
a ball up out of a feeling
I now call wireless network
to the stars ha ha Hollywood
your sign crumbles while humbler items
go on absorbing, emitting.
know much about the East and didn’t like what I saw. It looked like it was
Short Story, "The Calls" in MiPOesias
I was carting everything I owned across an ancient lake bottom, while, at the opposite end of the world, some young men were trapped in a metal tube, in the dark, under 400 feet of water, fighting panic, oxygen waning, their messages passing through the water for miles.
"Evidence Twenty" and "Little Disintegration" in American Poetry Review
To canyon crevasse and sun
wheel spun under a million
visible stars unsuspecting
voyagers are called
to disintegrate and report back.
"I Try to Think" in Oranges and Sardines
For a while
deserts only seemed good for war. Then I lived
in one and found it good for Frisbee.
For a while it seemed
I’d never share a sensible word with my father.
Then he said he might’ve murdered the whole committee
if they’d sent him back to China.
"Absentia" and "Natural History" in The Offending Adam
Spiral and net
carved in tufa along lakeshore benchmarks caterpillared by sage. Photos
of Clark Gable’s trophy trout in the Paiute interpretive center. “He could
sure play a broken-down wrangler.”
"The Light Year" and "Blue in Nature (With Some Overflow)" in Oranges & Sardines
After I wrote “At the Afterlife Hotel” I started really hating metaphors about what the dead are doing. I wanted to think of the dead very physically, strung through the ground and plants and air and blood.
"Dissayda Worl" in American Poetry Review
But the love I guess
is pretty intense
and I guess there’s love
for every organ
muscular wing thrum a lilac
room conceals shiver blown
ear to throat emote
when relevant attend to terror
in Wisconsin loud pops are often
"Translations: Jen Currin and William Stobb" in Konundrum Engline Literary Review
For souvenirs I bought (“explosions
on every level to scale beyond thinking”)
propaganda posters. I’m anti-
place I say in a paper (“Where anyone
can sit quietly and ring a chime”). No
to faces. No to cases. Rapidly blinking
the world erases.
"Qualities or Characteristics Of" in PIF Magazine
We stopped for lunch and I saw him light up
and turn the wrong way coming out of the station.
I continued south out of Cheyenne through a hailstorm
and then east of Denver into the long night,
every voice on AM saying distance, distance.
But this is supposed to be about living with it.