Headline Poetry & Press


Please browse the wonderfully supportive and apt writings found at

Headline Poetry & Press

Here are a few of my personal pieces with the press:

Write an Arbitrary List and Pretend

A Millennial Stares into the Abyss and the Abyss Sends her a Revolution of Love

The Late Winter Cold

Erasure the Occupant #21| The Great Me—I—I Before You

Senate Acquits

Poetry: In the Morning, We Make a Plant-Based Smoothie with every Magnesium

ARTicle: Hold Them Accountable

Erasure Poetry with Sound Element: Reconstruct Woman

Book Review: Forging through the Flame: A Review of Bola Opaleke’s “Skeleton of a Ruined Song”

Poetry: Robot Love Song: An Opera. An Accident.

Cassandra Opens the Jar of Peanut Butter and Drops in the Only Clean Spoon


Here’s a newish poem which you can listen to me read here!

Cassandra Opens the Jar of Peanut Butter and Drops in the Only Clean Spoon

Shaking today. I stood up
too long. There are so many objects
in the way when I move. I can
barely move. Even writing is upturning
the centripetal. Hands
shouldn’t. I worry
this will never go away
when it returns. Everything
undoes itself. Trembles. Roars.

But, if I died right now, I could
die near some soup
looking out at trees
with my cat and that seems like the best
way to go.

I could die near some soup. The canned kind.
Minestrone. Low
sodium. Glaring
out the small window. at the giant
light that looks
like a head. Or a moon in orbit. The taller
taller leaves. climb
ing the tree. the kind tree
that reaches down. to my wind
ow. the cat. staring out
at the squirrel. and chittering.
ch ch ch ch ch ch. this
seems like the best way.

If I died right now, I could
die here in this quiet
kitchen. No video
games. No one to badger me
with their determination
for my life or their track
for how I should have seen
signs, symbols
the setting, or steps
for what
they think
are earned amends.

The moon.
The moon out staring
glare at night. a pot of tea.
the carrots i route from the soup.
the cat, fluttering mildly
near his window top of the
tree this is the way I go

Enable my Writerly Lifestyle with a Coffee


It’s a bit like a date with an almost-married woman, but instead of staring at me awkwardly across a table while I mumble about bands from the nineties, poetic construction, old dead languages, and Sappho fragments, I can write these things down, and you never have to personally deal with my violent moods. I would be endlessly appreciative of your support. Taking the donut.

Buy me a coffee, here.