untitled [Bryan]

I would like to be something more than a receptacle

for hunger and bad behavior. I would like

to not be so pliant or so transfixed by my own

damnable curiosity. I would like you to keep

your hands where I can see them. And I would like

to not be the thing that makes you unfaithful. Continue reading


oughtism (47)

This time, I will not put myself
through the paces of disappointment.

Here, the sky turns pink,
a rosy, sleepy lavender
and makes the red dirt seem
to glow.

I think of you, and the dirt
beneath your feet, how it reaches
up to claim you.

You don’t have to be good.
You only have to come and walk
with me through the late day,
our shoes pushing the brown leaves aside,
our voices low in the gathering dusk.