Poems from Virginia, #3

Death deserves its own uncovery

That’s like a discovery that’s been hiding under the surface

Flip over that large flat stone

And that discarded log

View the beetles and worms

Feed on the dead


From ashes to ashes

From dirt thus is life

I worry about you, up there

So far from the soil

When you fall, it will feel that much farther

I don’t think you’ve ever walked upon the gravel, descalços

I need you to like pain, just a little bit

Then, I think, we will be free to write the kingdom of our dreams

Here in reality

Poems from Virginia, #1

I am the soil upon which the rest of my life grows. Once depleted forever gone. I am the gardener.

Does it feel good to till one’s own ribcage? Tear through the intercostals? Rip up the transverse obliques. What are you searching for, with this “tilling”?

The diaphragm underneath; the hummus of good clean soil depends on its layers of padding. Till up my body

take away my parka

feel fertile and free for just moments and then die.

Leave me uncovered. Leave me in a pile of leaves. Leave me buried in the earth and reap my bounty.

Some thoughts on Radiator, by Hilary Easton + Co. at Gibney Dance, 280 Broadway

Radiator, Hilary Easton + Co. May 13, 2017, 8pm. Gibney Dance, Agnes Varis Performing Arts Center, 280 Broadway, New York, NY 


there’s a lot of space between my body and yours until there’s not


once you know what I’m doing are you still interested?


Is it interesting/ is it possible to write about dance/ art without writing about internal experience?


pretend until it becomes real

candy bars burning 

you’re so cold I can’t touch you

spoked through

evening time

burned the candy wrappers to keep me warm