These poems are for a horse-boy. Perhaps one day he will be my horse-boy. I do not like boys. I cannot love boys. Still, I think of these as love poems – for a boy, half horse half man, who I may one day meet. The horse-boy is a story; he is a lie; he is a fantasy, a half-truth, a warning. So I have made him into poems. Look: the poem eats apples out of your hand. 

Finalist for BOMB Magazine’s Poetry Contest 2018

Horse-boy, you wandered into this poem and you can stay

After all I have nothing left but you      you, my hands, half a boat

I am usually more of a narrative than this but when you came     well  

I am a parental advisory       in other words a life with footnotes

As a child you dropped your head: I was dropped on mine: both of us survived this word order  

Is your mouth a mouth of horses or a mouth of boys  

When you ride : are ridden : which is fucking and which is transport  

In your childhood from which end did your life grow? Mine from both ends  

I could not stop it until everywhere became a where I was touched  

My own body, my own  

Half a boat carries half a person well

Bathos is cowardice but so is alternate rhyme                   so is love once you let it talk back

My body and I have an understanding

It has only to do with your hands

Only    love is saying, half a boat half a boat your hands, my ends   everywhere they do not touch      I will grow