Sunday, November 22


I had a dream last night
That I was in your house
In your bedroom;
Only not to see you
It was for some other dreamy pretense,
And I apologized for waking you up
Staring at your sleepy face
Forgetting why I came.

And I guess that’s a metaphor
I do barge in; sometimes.


Saturday, May 2


We go inward towards the city
The buses pulse electric
We wait patiently as ritual
Smash together
Wearing our white masks stretchy
We beat in from under the weather
Towards the coveted square
Our masks strained
We wait impatiently, demanding
Stranger to stranger the arms go
(-sk, -sk)
The center pulls


Friday, October 10

A work in progress

Do you ever 
Just breathe in
And suddenly feel the space left
By those who are gone?

I am walking to the bus
Thinking of my brother
And his infant daughter

I am an aunt
And I remember 

I had an uncle 

(And the ego is here...
As always 

Because first I thought of
The space I would leave 
And the way my niece would know 
Me and not
Know me 
If I was gone

And then you see
Came the breath
And the space)

My uncle was a story
And, you know,
He was a branch 
He was a face and hands 

And I used to remember him more 
Than I do now 

And that is the only way we know death
By imagining how even our own significance 
Will fade slowly after the fact
Like a black spot left by the light of the sun 


And today it is the ocean 
And we will be pulled under 

And today she is two weeks old 
And I have never seen her 

The only way we know death is 
In the way the ocean makes sand out
Of shells and how the tide goes
Sometimes slowly
Sometimes quickly

(to be continued...)

Thursday, October 2

Nine thoughts on how not to love for beginners (girls and boys)

Give him the benefit of the doubt
But treat that benefit like a ledger
The third time around,
Call collections 

If his world collapses like a folding chair every other day
Start to stop believing that he's really just the world's unluckiest person

Love him, but don't love him like a mother loves her son
Even if he doesn't have a mother 

Do not turn yourself into a bonsai tree,
No matter how good you would look sitting among his other houseplants 

Do not treat your lover like a key 
That magically opens a door 
To the land of 'the life you want'
They will leave after they tire of constantly being tried on strange locks

She is not your autobiography 
Stop trying to spin her yarn into a bestseller
Each has a story to write
Whether dull or mosaic or painful 
Or short

This one should be obvious--
Do not eat her 
She is not your sofa 
She is not your afternoon snack
He is not your savior

It is best not to love her if she tells you she is broken with a smile on her face
If he is resigned to his fate
(it will be difficult not to, but try)
Not every blighted life can be pulled back from the brink 
By the one or the one or "that one"

Do not try to mould your lover in your image
You are not god and if you want to fuck yourself, 
You only need one hand for that. 

Thursday, May 29

A Self-Indulgent Poem

My chest feels like my heart feels like a stone 
Just a head and legs sticking out of a mountain 
Of grey granite slabs
Tons-weighing, heavy, a dirt-grinding thud 
Black-hole stomach 
Feels like cinders feels like ashes feels like
The confusion of an unexpected absence
Of waking up after a long nap in which 
One's dreams were more important and serious 
Than the sticks and stones of everyday life
My mouth feels like my shoulders feels like my stomach feels like 
One Big Ache  
So heavy I'm breaking through the bed
What am I drinking? 
What have I been eating that sickens me so?
I have been eating the mountain and drinking the dirt, I suppose

I can't sleep tonight because my chest feels like a vase with the flowers taken out of it. 

Wednesday, May 14


Subtly she lets me know
That I am dead to her
Leaving off periods
At the ends of sentences
And looking through my face
Like a gauzy curtain

The inevitable battle approaches
Our flesh-pierced arms shaking
With laughter
That impervious armor

The shakedown commences
I have sewn her open
Saltwater at the ready
My tongue-sword slices downward—

We are the violent
Even to the arch of our backs
Colluding with the curve of our necks
We are plotting your downfall

We are the deadly
But our blood lust blinds us
I consume the flesh of my enemies;
You lick your wounds.

Sunday, May 11


This day is beautiful
Outside in a way like forgotten memories
And too hot
Stuck now in a reverie
Its vivid now
Don’t drive now
Forget where pedalsbrakesturnnow
Because birds and spring and trees are