Chain Break - Audio

for equinox & equinox-ers
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-goosebumps rolling
expanses of skin not yet swaddled.
for soil and tree; fall is pentecost
tongues of fire turning skull chakras
into open hearths-

-graveyard tunes
shake over calcium-dirt and statue
they'll lend you old virtues
in exchange for a mercury dime
for each eye-

-germination ceases
and this veil thins. world's caul ragged and delicate
from sun. wood-smoke, honor my meditations:
"try to not levitate too far off the ground
before snow"

-for each eye
an iris,
expanding-

Acoustic Information

I have a soundcloud where I post readings of my poetry and field recordings of New York City & Brooklyn

Listen Here

Recording of the poem City Primal

A Poem For You & Patti Smith

In the winter we’d make couscous in the kitchen.
The apartment was icy, the window would fog.
You cut my hair off, there was a mouse in the trap.
You hummed my name against my shoulder
and then there was an ocean in the kitchen
and it roared in my ears like night.
I told you I’d cry during the concert
and I did. With fingers so numb
that even pockets could not make them feel unalien.

In the kitchen, in the winter
it was icy, and we could not see outside.

White Collar Season 5

Alright!

I'm so stoked for Monday. I'll be starting work on Season 5 of the USA show White Collar as assistant to the producers. I'll essentially be a Jill-Of-All trades  for them, which suits me fine.

Wish me luck on the next 6 months!

Calling Cards Arrived!

City Primal: written in honor of the birthday of Mariano Henestrosa 2013

Our entire building hums,
as a beetle does before it takes to the air.
We break bread and give thanks and make things
with such frequency and repetition
that our awareness of time passing
is telescoping inward.

We’ll demand innocence,
but we know the hum,
this static-white-noise
in the field of our mind
is to remind
us that the ratio
of life lived
to life left to live
has shifted
the first of many times.

Climb six flights of tenement stairs
open the hatch to the roof so we
can drink green wine from flea market crystal.
It takes so little work to unhinge
there is little doubt that we are living doors.

We can calculate how concrete makes
geometric shapes between cities.
There is a cold front,
and coats are thin so we
cast a gaze across the skyline,
a play’s curtain.
Audacious, we cut holes
through and peek at the actors.

From the roof of that building
with it’s wild hum
like buzzing wings
we dopplar out
convinced that, tomorrow
we will lift avenues
and blocks
and all
with only our will.