vagabondcitypoetry

Say home. Say ablaze. Say bare womb of the loveliest girl. Say falling for that girl. Say exit wounds. Say sweet kisses and hair burning and curtains burning and flesh melting into a puddle. Baby I am just a stray god, I spend my days failing & sipping spilt milk. __ Giulia Boggio is a young […]

At 6 PM in Tempe, I am thinking about kissing you by the tea kettle in a kitchen that smells like basil and outside the sky thinks I am too bold and she blushes all pink and pink and wine red. The air on my balcony is humming as the boys above me smoke. They […]

Dearest, The god of my neighborhood is the abandoned grain elevator\ plunging into broken-windowed smiles north of the railroad tracks [a wasp between screen and window pane] Curved like rose petals, pieces of vodka bottles embellish the curb like spilled water [thrashing on the sill] If it could fit in an envelope, I would mail […]

Two days after Christmas, my neighbors carry out their stiff tree like a dead body. They peer around to see if anyone is watching, then heave it into the dumpster meant for garbage, and walk away, pine needles littering the path like a trail of crumbs. The last time I saw you, promises dropped from […]

The stars are serrated teeth that I wear as a necklace collected from all the nights that almost ate me as Cate is leaning backwards on the wooden railing calculated so her collarbone jutting into the night is a drawn arrow quivering in position. He is too high to ever notice but that’s not anyone’s […]

aquamarine bead curtains parting in this pressure zone and basing nightly preferences on the girl with the fewest split ends. lines on the wall intersected, harsh and rebellious at paint’s fine touch like possums in the midday sun when book bags snap aloud. every bottle cap tossed aside and tucked in the folds of lifetime […]

Veins are long lines of genes running through you, the last words of “I’ve Had the Time of My Life” in my brain tell my heart to keep pumping   to my toes, she relives summers spent slumming. This is the question he should have asked his wife: How many glasses of wine before you […]

find the scrapheap. 1998 hardtop jeep wrangler, lapis blue — more of a dirty yves klein now — but really, any old car works. tear it to pieces. scrap metal of the gods. stack armour on armour on skin. chrome grill on car door on collarbone. shred the passenger seat — remember that? where you […]

your hair’s wet because we went night swimming the mothlight furring my forehead together and pulsing with the spectral heave of the moon these tides knowing me the way i know myself pensive and cold and slick along the insides. hoarse siren song and the fuzzy swan-curve of my neck the waves carving me into […]