A small sampling of things I've written over the years that could arguably fall under the general blanket of "Poetry." Much of the poetry you see here was originally published on Five By Five Hundred, and you can also find my stuff in upcoming issues of Asimov's magazine. (please note: this isn't actually structured into any kind of order or anything)


Winter’s wicked claws tear across my
face; they draw no blood, but shred my skin
until I fall awake
inside a doorway, in a city,
under blankets torn and old
I am choked by dirt and worms
but still protected from the cold.

When the freezing rain is falling, I
am certain I have earned my discontent,
just as I deserve this green oakpark bench as my bed

I could use some conversation;
I could use a warmer heart.
But I sleep with ghosts and needles
in this dead, abandoned park,
mumbling between my failing breathes:

“Excuse me, mister,
can you spare some change?
This city is cold
and these shoes have holes.”

I caught you in an eye-to-eye
and still you kept on walking bye,
naked but your three-piece suit
and a tie around your neck just like a noose.