Two poems, "Page" and "Lady Butter," are available online in the Adroit Journal's Issue Seventeen. Here's one in full:
Her hand a country
where women are fools
in harrowing bonnets,
only dreams can pursue them.
Winter bullied her, forced
a finger in her, made her
his wife, so that nobody
could touch her. When crowned,
she magnified her wand
into a mirror, caught what wind
& wired it shut. Her nature
ballooned in a cave of iniquity,
windows closed at her arrival
& true became truest
just by looking at her.
Her her a burr, the burr of her.
The waiting & bleeding
trembled her over, the monster
of her & her might—Origin
A man with no business wearing a hat
got lost in the woods, & took her:
Her names were Luxury, Glory,
Little Worm. She carved a carriage
& suffocated in sated sleep.
What a dull, what a little dull, what
a dull little being she was.
It is not up to us, who lives in the window.
Her mongrel’s puddled drool a portal
to nowhere. Afraid to move, afraid
of her body with its bells & chambers, echoing.