I found the forest where I was allowed to hate
Evangelists say there were times like this.
Around the nearest town, I distribute
They listen, the wood knots of my mind.
I call the body what it wills to be—a sack
a sack of feathers, a mile of flight.
When I listen, I can hear
This plank, this body I once wanted
through the thin lips of oaks. I owned
I imagine glory as ending
with a single match. How righteous
work for all it's worth.
Snow falls, and snow
is good as lost. Beneath the ice
fooled—the coal burning through
"Composition" and "Photo—" are from my chapbook Hook, just out from Sibling Rivalry Press. Both reflect on the scene of modern queer identity through the lens of the Matthew Shepard and Bobby Griffith stories.