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

peace

to tread bare faced, raw

through a world of masked liars

is true bravery

I never could get the hang of Thursdays

I awoke to Shadowy Men

on a Shadowy Planet, guitars &

nostalgia signaling me from my

phone, dragging me out of a 

basement nightmare where all my

comics & vinyl were filled with

bugs (also, eggs of bugs)

devastating

~but before that~

there were donkeys on the

deck, an entire family of them just

pissing and jumping everywhere

(their elders spoke English but 

said nothing of consequence)

these eventually morphed into 

my friends, who were holding 

drinks & ignoring me

go ahead &

analyze that

yeah, I'm glad I'm out,

into this blur of a world & 

Kids in the Hall isn't a 

terrible way to wake

~but~

the cat is screaming 

at my door & 

I'm out of cream for my

coffee & 

there's this desert 

in my mouth from the

4am boozy boys

ahhh already

fuck you, Thursday. 

Vivian

all these interviews 

show that she was alone

among the children, 

quietly mad & cruel

had the world been such a

sacrifice if her brilliance 

shown so clearly in

black & white, photos of

lives unseen

is it better to burn 

brightly & dangerous, 

engulfed

or 

to coast happily

ignorant of the

dark alleys, 

spreading one's

mediocrity evenly 

over just the

surface

connecting & loving,

being loved without

sharp corners, collections, 

fixed points of anger

pleading at the end

just to be seen

rope bridge

quote from a dream world: 

"safety isn't always comfort, 

but sometimes danger.

excitement isn't necessarily 

danger, but sometimes safety."

full circle. I guess. 

that doesn't 

make sense,

but I just woke up.

I had another bridge dream

where I stalled on my side

of a long rope bridge over a

canyon of certain death.

this isn't my worst fear

but it's definitely

one of them.

it replaced the bridge to Hatteras

(which seemed taller than necessary,

but I suppose that was my perception).

Hatteras wasn't on the other side &

that doesn't make sense, either. 

anyhow,

to be where I needed,

I had to cross.

I'm a little disgusted by this

obvious metaphor.

oh, snap

a band snaps me back

in an instant, a flimsy circle

over thin skin to hold me 

in place, from distraction

gone but persistent, here 

surrounded by reminders, 

there's nowhere else to go

but backwards, pulled in,

a foot propped on a table,

a song taped to the line

(SNAP) the world comes

back into focus, a duller

version of a daydream that's

already seeping back in, an

eyelash blown into the wind

(SNAP) someone is playing

Piano Man in spanish, I sing

along in english, it's sad & it's

sweet & I knew it complete,

a way to shield the hated heat

(SNAP) move faster, focus & 

when he comes round with the 

clipboard again, take the time,

this place only amplifies what's

lovely & fleeting by being neither

self pep talk

ignore where the mind goes

when tired and alone. this is a

nightmare field of nowhere,

existing only to rehearse for a

contingency, a risk assessment, 

an emergency exit from fear.

don't pretend to care or not,

the soul dismantles with every

lie, the spirit clouds each time

we change our masks to face

another's disguise. there is love

that can't be found in fictions. 

never doubt there's room for you,

your authenticity, your voice, to live. 

no place but everywhere, a space

homemade within the skin, a hidden

world where you are always allowed,

fully accepted, & loved unrestricted.

mistakes aren't defining & flaws are

beauty in the eyes of the worthy. 

tattoos are only decorative scars, 

same as all physical imperfections, 

mental differences, past experience, 

it's all just the ornamental ink of life.

telephone

we're all reduced to 

smaller than 

I AM.

an idea,

a role, 

a type, 

a function.

a means but

not an end. 

all our words 

matter less.

there are no

soul confrontations,

only others to

bounce our own

sounds back.

return, confirm,

congratulate. 

it's the essence 

of a game of

telephone

to distort 

every word.

interpret, reshape

into a thing that fits

what is expected, 

what is wanted. 

on both ends 

of the call.

flowers

my flowers are dead

crushed and rotting in a jar

just taking up space

I knew I'd kill them,

picked them months ago with no

water yet to give

petal by petal

each wilt under the knowledge

that I'm their owner

the dry spray of breath

betrays my expectations 

brittle and fallen

colors have faded

to an old & pale blood stain

marked with rejection

they know sometimes I

wish I'd never picked them, but

they're too parched to cry

oh, when will I learn

flowers only thrive when I

leave them in the earth

Lok Gweltz

the shuffle between keys,

birds, the echo of room

stir memories of oceans 

never seen, cool salt air 

never breathed, a rocky

French coast of delicious

gloom only visited for the 

length of a song, a dance

for lonely notes uniting

under his fingers

blood in the cut

the silence resonates 

louder lately,

paces through my body, 

bouncing limb 

to limb, into my very

nervous system, 

echoing the sound of

indefinite absence

it's a disquieting quiet

felt as starvation,

amplified by the effects of

memories, pills, time,

a resounding nothing

pounding rhythmic

while I hunger for

noise

back & forth

numbness follows from 

these contradictory states 

I occupy

overflowing,

indifference 

contentment,

resentment 

as if extreme emotions

could cancel each other 

completely

leave a blank 

space that grumbles

hungry

there's nothing to 

feed it that won't 

breed its opposite

neutralize

empty again

tonight

I'm filling this void

with velveeta

red

I'm an island of bone in a sea of 

blood slipping up my white shores,

washed with the stain of ruin, 

dragging the unwary under the 

heady iron waves of my blessed curse,

luring, conquering, sucking words 

of poets, songs of man into my 

inferno lungs & exhaling the smoke of 

this burning world into the 

faces of their ghosts

The Dreaming

I'm a consciousness in a 

void where the depths are 

safe. Each exchange is a 

private internal discussion

with selves of varying faces,

playing out disjointed scenes

to a nonsensical film with no

discernable start or conclusion.

This daily subjugation is welcomed,

embraced with eyes shut, held at

times with a desperation that only

follows a dry absence. I lay still,

begging at times for him to pull me

under, craving the descent into a

delicious sort of madness where I

create myself truthful & new, shed the 

exquisite corpse assembled from

distorted sight, misconceptions, & 

the partial observations of others.

I become energy.

I return to my source.

work

drained of everything & refilled

with noise & hunger, I'm so tired.

withdrawal settles into bones

an ache for a drug barely tasted

& I watch the dark corners for

scenarios. those shadows are

never as deep. the mannequins 

holding brooms, scattered paused

across the floor, are catching breath 

with me, inadvertently stopping time,

holding the moment until the dusty air

begins to tremble, unable to hold the

collective inner screams.

I'm the chairman of the bored

the rain has made its way

into my lungs, cloud cover

blocks the signal & I'm quiet

each car door slam, distant

dog bark, I'm smaller, further,

sinking into the floorboards

indifferent to this simulation,

the perceptual isolation of this

life, removed from all sense

absently chewing on reality, 

arbitrary social contracts, object

permanence, & my lower lip

cursing the homemade roadblocks

frustrating the paths to nirvana,

all the self-fulfilling incapacity

mostly I'm just bored, overthinking

the world, laying around & watching

the fucking Roku screensaver

awake

from routine to dream

this wanted lucidity

pours into spaces

between, 

spills down into 

empty crevices,

saturates with 

substance, 

filling, finding 

dark corners 

left to dust, 

greasing parts 

left to rust,

a flood of sweet

clarity washing

clean the doubts

from the trust

stream-of-thought benadryl haze

my thoughts have 

come untethered 

tonight, 

maybe it's the rain, 

the death, or just the 

lack of little death 

keeping me from 

seeing clearly, 

feeling clearly, 

or just having a 

normal fucking mind

but nothing is so 

simple anymore

nothing as transparent

as me, writing this

trite self-indulgent 

bullshit in place of 

forcing the things 

I promised,

because words are

hard when they're

expected.

wednesday afternoon depersonalization

everything keeps starting, 

stopping, stalling out from 

being pulled in five different 

directions, nothing seems real &

at times, I'm not even tangible 

until I make contact, don't 

exist without that pressure

the weight of another 

until then I'm only an idea

abstract, formless

a wisp of words and dream

ungrounded, watching my 

body float between worlds