last glimpse

the same tired veteran

passes, head down

bucket hat eternal

between his thoughts

& the suburban sun

the annual invasion of

wood borer bees, & me

gently redirecting their ire

at my deck sitting presence

with a brave hand

the hum of five different

mowers, a struggle to have

conforming lawns, grasses

of matching heights, edges

clean, flowerbeds decluttered

this is what I imagined of life

an unending drone, basking in

monotony, alone inside while

joggers passed & waved to the

appearances of peace

this is my last week here in this

happy neighborhood with its happy

joggers and happy lawn care &

(maybe not so happy) bees all

baking in the glow of safety

and I couldn't be happier

no space

there are walls here

in between the walls,

surfaces of silence 

deflecting silence

tangled wire has no

room to unravel so it

spools larger & presses

us down into furniture

it's all a mess & we 

pick up our feet wordlessly

without so much as 

existing

dance close to all these

edges to escape the telling,

that this civility has become 

exhausting

I have every right &

none at all to feel

any of this

firsts

my first hard liquor coincided 

with my first train trip, though

it all happened during the night,

as good adventures tend to do 

the windows of an empty

observation car mirrored only us,

me: scribbling in a backpocket journal,

her: drawing my anime portait 

a full year countdown to my

unexpected motherhood, but

what I seem to recall most vividly

were my sweet jeans with the 

reinforced knees

happy hour

"nothing matters,"

~feels nicer than~

"everything matters

& I've fucked it all up."

I lie there listening,

realizing I've mistaken

crumbs for banquets

all my life, swapping the 

causes & effects

nothing matters

is the the best 

scenario

new every day

each morning

I piece together this

collage of a human

pasting myself together

with songs, poems, films,

favorite food, drink,

interpretive dance

different highs

today, it's Yann's 

accordion, violin &

staccato toy pianos

as edge pieces with

bloody mary filler 

but tomorrow

tomorrow I may wake

into new skin &

Sam's Good Times

may be what soothes

my soul & if I'm pain free

I'll have a Cherry Coke

pieces

my favorite part

of these stories

are the afterwords

mapping a smooth

landscape with

fingertips

archiving his

terrain for future 

distraction 

pulling fabric over 

my ridges, valleys,

fault lines of age

I shatter often,

mend between 

deaths

& fill in the cracks

left behind

with gold

say it

dishonest 

stranger

each response

my hesitancy

toes icy

water

a lie coerced

grabs hold of

teeth & tongue

to avoid its

birth

so

why don't you

ask for a

truth

& he does

in continuous

breath, what is

held sacred,

concealed

answers this

call & 

response,

a repeated

verse

grateful to

be found, 

if not

recognized

glint

art is simply the

attempt to explain

truth in the context 

of a lie

a beautiful form of

self-preservation where

one can create a 

replica

completely traceable 

but ultimately 

deniable

men

insanity that 

assumes,

infuriates yet 

consumes

is easily named

men

the impulse to

jump to my death 

when standing at 

the edge of

great heights

the fear I might,

for no reason,

drive my car off

a bridge on a

dark whim

is still less absurd

than this urge to 

fall & shatter

continuously on a 

loop for their

amusement

12/10

such a simple

difference,

the memory of

lamplight 

brushing skin 

attaches an

extra layer to 

a film of which

I'd already been 

spellbound 

it's unfair

being a woman

in this

incapable 

(no)

unwilling to 

separate mind

from body

no beers, but tears for fears

In lieu of 

drinking

[it is after

midnight &

I have 

nothing &

(also)

I am waiting 

to be certain

that the world

isn't ending]

I made a

decision

at some 

point 

to just 

go ahead

allow the

flood

because 

dammit

I'll drown 

in anything

& if I can't 

tap out

I may as well

go all in. 

indigestion

my poor bed is 

holding up so much 

weight tonight.

those swallowed 

maybes

slid down smooth, 

yet,

given an hour 

on my back,

sank hard to form

heavy nevers & 

there's no antacid to 

cure the heart burns.

I'm certain now that 

I've digested every

salty subconscious 

thought

devoured every bit of 

alcohol left in

this house

to fill the rest

but 

I still save room

for a scream

because

there's always

room for you, 

sweets. 

life right now

I just apologized

for simply existing

& this was actually

accepted.

Dude, I was being

dramatic, 

you're not supposed to 

just roll with it.

*

Twelve minutes until

my shift starts, 

I am staring at the 

front entrance

from my parked car.

I really feel how

easy it would be to just

quit at everything.

*

I just choked on the 

water that I drank to 

keep myself from 

choking.

This is what 

happens when 

I try to help 

myself.

*

I am watching the moon

fall into a red shadow

in a clear night. This must

hold some magic,

so I wished on the

eclipsing moon, two

shooting stars, &

apparently 

an airplane.

I believe in nothing

& everything

tonight. 

torch

it's had time to burn

to flicker, aching

while bound & breaking

buried under silence

thriving on meager

crumbs of memory

surviving, though

hope misplaced

a smoldering glow

behind hidden tears

still holding space

through passing years

this flame ignited

folded in his arms &

keeps me warm in hopes

I find my way back

substitute synonym

I believe we appear 

jointly attractive

I thought your sneakers

were not vegan friendly

he's an ersatz man

implied height from his

platform shoes 

easy appearances 

are all convoluted

seems in his salad days 

but really quite wilted

he entered the world

with a disposable spork

in his face hole

(this is what happens when I can't sleep at 4am and get the great idea to rewrite song lyrics to say the exact same thing, only stupider...all because the word "ersatz" had been mysteriously clanging around in my head)

getting through

Breathe. 

Drink water.

Stretch & move

(okay, stop moving

that hurt).

Rest.

Ice.

Compress.

Elevate.

Take a shower

Scrub, shave, condition.

Moisturize!

Deodorize!

Perfume &

apply war paint. 

Don't drink, 

don't smoke

(what do you do?)

Subtle withdrawal

symptoms follow,

(must drink

endless coffee).

Journal & reflect.

Dream & set goals.

Prioritize!

Visualize!

Check internal dialogue 

(it says

this is all

pointless).

Nam Myoho 

Renge Kyo, 

on a loop,

under breath

(so no one knows

you've been dabbling).

Guided meditation. 

Binaural delta waves.

Sleep hypnosis. 

Subliminal reprogramming.

Lofi hip hop?

Sleep!

Just fucking SLEEP! 

(sigh)

Trying is

exhausting.

here goes

started meds

today

hoping

they allow me

to experience

(oh)

any 

fucking 

thing

without this 

impulse

to vomit 

from my eyes

first thing

untangled

spit from sleep to 

blaring lightness

a blinding scream

unfolding

placing dreams

still rebellious 

back into cages

unwary

holding no caution

under my skin to the

notes of his song

unguarded

from dangle & pull,

I yawn echoes into the

safety of a morning

diffusing a bomb

as I'm slamming doors &

cursing existence, I 

~grudgingly~

replay this thought of a 

wiser, calmer self, 

sighing in the back

"expectations are only

resentments 

waiting to happen."

(delivered in a 

condescending

sing-song)

I have no idea how or when

that sentiment burrowed in,

which inspirational garbage heap

this quote was salvaged from, yet 

here it is, regardless.

ahhh...

I'm still throwing things

but breathing, 

allowing the uncaring 

current of events to

carry me screaming 

toward certain failure

thank you,

Wiser Jenny,

you're so right!

just kick back, let go

of what you can't change

& allow the whims of

assholes to dictate the 

course of your life

just breathe...

relax...

(don't hurt anyone)

First Reformed

Ethan pours himself a death

& wraps himself in wire,

suffering to deflect his

desire (I think, there's really 

no difference)

but in the end, as in life,

love reigns over god

alright, but

I'll watch anything

starring Ethan Hawke.

it's taken me four nights

to get through this movie,

I pour out my death &

go to bed.

First Reformed

⭐⭐⭐½

dreaming small

if I disappear just a bit

into a ready-made story

(not that I could, but if)

erase enough of me that 

they quit digging on

exposed nerves &

I could not be found

well, then

life would be grand

I'd drink my coffee

after dinner, curl into 

the night alone to

read & sleep without

dreaming big

rinse & repeat

this is me, but

we love our big ideas

of self, flickering,

burning projections,

stories cast with us,

words written for us

but what character, then,

am I?

the ill-fated mother of

every fairy tale heroine,

only a beloved memory

a naive orphan wandering

the forest, serenading 

woodland creatures

a dark sorceress,

terrifying, commanding,

bitter to the beauty of youth

the feral warrior princess

fighting for nature,

renouncing humanity 

a spectral grin

teasing from the trees, 

spouting mad misdirection 

or, just

peaceful & small, 

wanting only a smoke,

a bit of adventure &

~hopefully~

a second breakfast

the perfect recipe

have drunken deep thought

count syllables on fingers

boom, it's a haiku

🥳

jumping waves

another suit

slipped, zipped

fit smooth & tight

skin for skin

watching the

tide roll in

each wave greets

a new swimmer

familiar to the sea,

waters lap & slide

past her fresh & 

ephemeral hide

but if the swells

calm, slow, show

the diver there's

room to survive

nude & disarmed,

unbreaking, unharmed

she will shed her suit,

buoyed by trust, brave,

peel down & bare skin 

untouched & fair 'neath

slippery illusions that hide

a self she saves

(but she's still keeping

a skin for the next wave) 

Alice (1988)

there's rain after Alice

washing away sawdust

of taxidermied rodents

& now there's a drum ritual

coming from the batting cages

have we fallen asleep

fallen asleep fallen

into her desk drawer

a memory of this film is

a memory of a dream is

a memory of a memory

and the raindrops trick our

arms into numbness, the ants

inside the sink are the last 

straw, I'm going to bed to

wake up & never watch this

movie again

Alice

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Definitely recommend 

a poem without words (translated into words)

nothing feels more

honest than silence.

I could fill the space

with noise & static 

~but~

thoughts scale down

to insufficient when

squooshed

funneled 

tiny into 

words.

~however~

if I could construct a 

wordless poem

(only the raw material)

exude this 

passion & pain

through stillness

(rather than 

demoting them to

letters)

well...

no one could

fucking read it

obviously.

i must be asleep

any time now

I'm going to

wake up &

tell everyone

I dreamt that

my cat just

gave birth to

George Jetson

dissonance

if the sky were gray

this wouldn't all feel 

so wrong

but aching here in

the sunshine

lends an unbearable

dimension to emptiness

& lines it with guilt

tired: a song without music

I'm learning slowly

the cruel lies of time

losing intention & 

ignoring the signs

keeping hands up 

over my eyes

it's impressive 

how much pain my

ignorance buys

I write my maps of 

unresolved dreams

handmade grief & 

shifting extremes

keep turning this wheel 

of hope & ennui

until I'm so dulled

I don't care 

what I believe

adrift in the sea or

running aground

it's my own siren song

that lures me to drown

my heart pulls me in &

fear holds me down

I know how to swim but 

I'm so tired &

lost in the sound

push

time's not forgiving

put down the crystal ball &

roll the fucking dice

coffee

old friend, you may be

tearing my stomach up, but

I just can't quit you