Outside Reading – Thirteen Myna Birds

Two poems of mine, Hand (There is a man in China/With one of his hands attached/To one of his ankles by thread) and Phase (We are in a transition period/The body reaching the point of rot) will be part of the flock at Thirteen Myna Birds this month.

If you have enjoyed what I’ve written here, you may enjoy these.

New York

It is possible to feel
In shoes made of concrete/pixel neon/unsourced
Metal, if you drift, quiet,
On social updrafts –
Promises accepted, hope in small bottles
Like cats’ whiskers, or built-in
I dreamt of crystals last night,
Hard-clasped to banish clouds,
And in that magic fear
Rustled soft wings.


It took.
A star, a wizard, a Prince,
A chocolatier, an hallelujah chorus,
A mother and the socialite of socialites.
It took my grandmother too, and my cat,
Upping the count, perhaps, because we
Took the least – 30 deaths by Supreme Court,
All their meals photographed,
Exposed, in a small studio in Brooklyn.