Catcall
I’m walking downtown-- Screech-- A mismatched car losing Its paint stops. The driver who Looks just like the men On the street, ...
Synesthesia: A Poem
I like numbers like four, Blue like a sea of jeans, And 9, bright orange just like the fresh fruit. Zero’s white disappears On my...
Waiting
I often find myself Waiting. To lose something, Or someone For disaster to strike --The irreversible For the world to stop...