Poems

The true storms of life demand such a discipleship of us, an absolute surrender, which mirrors that of the Virgin Mary herself.

We pin you to the unfinished saints you leave behind.

I met Judas at a roof party in late October. The Ghost had warned me about the devil in the form of a man too charming to deny.

I have the many and bright letters of my first and middle name Irish enough to outweigh the heaviness of the thick and rich Hispanic last name I carry slumped over my golden shoulders.

We all unfold as music. / Our desire appears each morning.

For the brackish water, and electricity / That charge our thoughts and spines.