left it standing

my fears are hidden at home in my onion knife

as I drink coffee that tastes like David Mamet

left it standing

downtown on a Tuesday morning

during a plague

somehow that proves

there are things I don’t regret

while we pretend to have enough choices left

the way a crumbling sidewalk shows us

dandelions will continue to grow

on the strength of their convictions

Americana analysis art atheism behavior belief childhood comfort death divinity domestic violence geneology local color love poetry religion rituals self-love sociopathology Urban Legends vice war writing

old time religion

my parents were screaming

at each other

in Baptist curses

doors slamming

phones torn asunder

sounds of a home splitting apart at the roofbeams

my father throwing the floor model television out the front door

and one frightened sister

smuggling me out a bedroom window to another protective sister

that may not have all happened on the same night

it was so long ago &

this wasn’t constant

not your average weeknight at the Young’s house

but it’s always the first time

that matters most


myths & legends

is a concept
invented by
a pharmaceutical

activism art death life society Uncategorized writing

very much alive

this little poem

feels like poetry

has died

then it remembers

even that

is a poem

it’s very much alive

poetry sociology

terrorist states

you can’t make a bomb

powerful enough

to frighten me

you can’t make a gun

big enough

to make me shrink away

as there is nothing more terrifying

than living to fight

another day

fauna insects Ohio poetry science writing



the creature lighted

on my window

for a moment

before returning to the sky

as if to remind me

though wings become tattered

it is still

entirely possible

to fly


literature mourning poetry Uncategorized

under catalpa trees

no death

represents a single loss

it is a lifetime of little ones

i didn’t just lose my father

i lost his voice

his cologne

him beaming as i accepted my diploma

the father daughter dance at my wedding

him teaching my sons to fish

family reunions under catalpa trees

but i remember the way he laughed

it was left behind in his grandsons eyes

and in

their gleeful bellies

his joy rising from the deep

it is simply

my favorite mercy

atheism girl stuff poetry religion science theism

paper dolls

Critic: “Your poetry has taken on religious overtones as of late…”

Me: “Yes, as have I.”

Critic: “Why?”

Me: “I suppose it is a condition arisen from having played paper dolls with death my entire life…”

Americana religion sociology

southern gothic

if there’s one myth

a Baptist can dispel

it is the misconception

that all Christians are friendly


thin lipped women

become more so

when i enter a room


men succumb to a case

of the glancing can’t help it’s


it took a lot of suffering

books read

and introspection

to achieve this level of

fuck you

i don’t give a shit


i love my life

i love living in my skin

i love my battle scars

i cherish my mistakes

as they became my teachers

i love my family in

all its grand dysfunction

we make spite look alluring


aw hell

let’s just go up

in the hay loft

talk about the power of forgiveness

and engage

in some heavy pettin’




crime domestic violence film non-fiction poetry

i said i don’t want no cake, ike

how tranquil

it must be

sailing along

in the good ship right

upon a sea of wrong


that’s the blistering irony

about know-it-alls



and candy coated pricks

who demonstrate

impervious response


they have a choice

whether or not

they acknowledge

their dysfunction

yet they leave us