it’s me

Regard man as a mine rich in gems of inestimable value



Opening caverns of

Echoing land

Take less,

With kindness and nerve


Horizon moves quickly as it

Swells in surprise,

Motionless to my humble soul


Did you feel the earth move

Beneath you

Did you feel the saltwater



What is the madness that’s rising

My blood stumbles

To understand what


But it’s a shift of the beast

Deep within me

And it’s swallowing

The madness that grows


poof poof poof

as I ghost away you don’t seem to mind

that was the problem in the first place–

to me, you were a choice

to you, I was an option

a subscription

until you felt ready for roots.

at my most bitter I’d call you “selfish”

at my most tender, “kind & serving”

but, truthfully,

I didn’t even care enough to hurt

or like you enough to reminisce.

it is more disappointment

of what you bared your soul to be

it is more disappointment

we could not inflict more pain

so detached, and shadowy, and cave-like,

no hard feelings, for feelings weren’t had.


I’m wondering how I will describe you

in months or moments to come

1 exhale of some false expectation

2 people lying openly, lying,

a time capsule of curiosity and hope–

at one point, I pictured the sunset apartment

that does not exist

at many points, I let your figure attached itself

to my timeline

it is this, that idea,

from which I feel now divorced

not from your dense touch or

flightless fingertips.


this booth bench feels like bus bench

that passes road sign to road sign

all deep fried, all stir fried

all starry eyed

and pining

misty for the tides of abandon


this passing,

I’ll make it a tradition

and keep it a secret

between you and me

I’ll give you every Sunday morning on benches

frozen lakes on the steam of my coffee


people are, to us, who we were to them

and I suppose I miss being Monkey

the world of family is not drawn by legal pads and eagle seals

but by sounds, remembered smells,

by laughter and plants on the walls


I wish to honor you and

sit across from all the you’s

on this bus of a booth that

could be anything


the truth is,

I feel bigger than this immediate corner

I feel bigger than the left or right corner

bigger than clumsy evening

or skin to skin battle,

desperately distracted

in search of family


left behind



a lot of sad poems lately

but i’m pretty okay lately

even though i always describe myself in lack

not this

not that

not she, i disappoint myself in slideshows

of smiling faces

can’t live up to should

lately, i’ve been pretty okay,

i’m getting better, i understand the cycle now

abandoning the ship of self deprecation

defecation for mental word play,

telling myself it’s a trick

and an exercise

perfection, i’ve heard,

is the balance of sanity and actuality

when i realize at day one

to be was to be unwanted

but i’ve been pretty okay, lately,

in the way that the tsunami quiets the riptide

and the sheep

speaks comedy to the bishop.

I wonder what your ego will enjoy the most? 

Before you ask –

you broke my heart –

Before you ask – I’m happy, now

True, it took 13 months

to find my tongue, again –

True – I didn’t try too hard and

true –

It was never going to make it past

next season,

this I knew,

even as I tried you on off the bargain rack –

True – before you speak –

I remind you I’m beyond and much more above

your pronoun –

Remember you’ve done your work –

the destroyer, finished,

can catch his breath

while I play repair.

Before you interrupt –

return to that scene

and preserve her fragile mouth

from your echo chamber menthol throat

and pull her towards another

who does not say she lies

whenever she dare say that she loves.

grim reaper

my dusty sigh could empty footlockers-

and burn dishwashers-

with grime of poison mouth

with hope that hinged

on Child’s Lie-


-your currency was rage

and all the world a debt-

to be underneath you was to yearn

for atonement-


the only thing i learned that year

is all i choose to remember-

dead skin molts away,

the clock breaks on 3, and

the truth-

a wooden raft on salt and shame-


love is freedom-

never ask-

if you must,

if you have to,

if you beg-

drag your tongue out

prick your toes and swallow sweat-

they never can-

know today, that to ask,

they never will

nov 18, 2017

bitter chill always makes me think of you, and us,

the warmest thing I ever held,

the only heat I’d touched with joy,

when they ask, “had she known love?”-

not like yours

and not since-

and I rest myself

by the ash

remembering what it was once


to burn


and I felt embarassed

when they carried my grandmother down the stairs

as she cried

I felt embarassed

for myself

for the helpless

for the premature nostalgia

for this unconscionable shame


and yet you control me

or is it that I control

the space between us

allowing room for no surprises,

just history

that hasn’t happened yet

and yet I hardly know myself

it’s a sensation, strange, of disbelief

when I want

something so specifically

clear a path for no allowances-

it is feeling real, these momentary

bursts of who I can be

for a few hours-

why so hard?

she shouted


whenever i have dreams they are of

soft-footed women with long toes digging down

down down

in them i feel incomplete and with them i feel imperfect

and it’s delicious

i’m sorry

but it’s expensive real estate up there

and i don’t think you could afford it

certainly i cannot

afford you