new poetry series - spies of the field

Hey guys, I've been going through ups and downs lately in what exactly I want out of my poetry. Call it a long overdue period of artistic growth/wandering/whatever. Here's a poem from a new series, then. Enjoy!

spies in the field: gilded


it is we who don masks
and take
away the cigarettes from
a parlor

and suggest a sip of coffee with
a dark glance.
the half-moon
circles under a waitress’
eyes

is not enough to riot.

we think of overturning our
secret disguise and go around bragging.


a car upturns down the boulevard
and the city reminds us
that

the holy grail is hidden in its
guts,

and pulsating even,
and screaming even.