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When the world is flowers
I watched a bee die and did what I could. I listen to poets and give what I can. In this case it's two very short poems about possums.
Kristin Lueke
Poet. Virgo. Chingona. Everybody eats.
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We salvage ourselves
Recommendations for living. Also twelve questions, one bird, and two poems.
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These hands that have always held you
I begin a new decade overcome with love. Everything keeps on happening. One thousand hugs and gorgeous evenings. Also some new work in the world.
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Never ate so many stars
A benediction asking Everything, the only god I know, to take care of a friend I never held, and of me, and everyone else. Also a poem that haunts me, gently.
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If you go looking
It has come to my attention I love looking at birds, so now it's everyone's problem. Also a poem that sees something in everything, from the last winter I lived in Chicago.
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We drove into the sun
Let's say there is a place and you feel at home. Let's say you have a thing or two to learn before you get there. Let's say I wrote a poem. What then?
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In your own time
In four weeks every day will be wildly different. Come on, let me read you a poem.
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My people
Six weeks left in Chicago. Three times I got on the bus. The bus is a metaphor, except when it isn't. Plus a perfect poem by Charif Shanahan.
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Never stop talking about the sun
Happy Aries season! Here's some long, insane sentences on spring, all the bullshit, unspeakable fury and the struggle to be whole, not just good. Also I won a poetry contest, which was nice.
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I was every inch an animal
An incomplete catalog(ue) of what, exactly, the hell I think I've been doing. Plus I read you a poem about a living thing changing.
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Put your hand here on my heart
Treat yourself to a pomegranate and two poems—one by me, one by Pablo Neruda. You can tell which is which.
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Please bring strange things
Here. Have some poems and some prompts. For the practice. Who knows what will happen next.