It’s a beautiful day out
but I’m spending it inside
after a feverish drive
all the way to Kenosha
for a damned typewriter that I
don’t even know if it works

I’m in one of those moods where
I’ll do whatever acts I must commit
to get what I want

I hardly remember the drive
just thinking how excited I was
for a damned typewriter

my head hurts
telling me I should eat more than
the breakfast biscuits I had this morning

I think of the things I should be doing;
the music I should be reviewing
the poetry I should be reading
the shit I shouldn’t be buying

but now I’m back home playing
with my new toypwriter
like it will make me a better writer
even though I know that’s
all bullshit

horseshit just like
a camera doesn’t make
the photographer
or a paintbrush
the Picasso

but I’ll keep sitting here like a monkey
hoping I’ll make my modern-day Shakespeare
with this damned typewriter
I don’t regret buying

anxious drinking

I’m drinking too fast tonight
trying to calm my nerves
that normally lie dormant

these two girls —
one tall, one short
like my friend and I —
come talk to us
in a room where
I’m paranoidly convinced
I’m somewhere I’m not welcome

the shorter one vaguely reminds me
of someone I loved in a past life
before I jumped off that ledge

she tells me I should dye my hair
platinum blonde
I say only if she dyes hers
we fist-bump in agreement

we lose them and I stand
listening to the music and I keep


staring at strings of lights along the ceiling
like they’ve got all the answers
to my problems, thinking how
earlier my friend and I
were drunkenly trying to figure out
how long those bulbs last
with their extra large filaments

do they last long lives unfulfilled
or just as long as any other bulb
leaving less light in this dark world?

the nerves that settled down are fighting again
and I lean back into the back seat of my brain
telling the quarreling siblings
to shut the fuck up.

and now I’m lost in the music


staring at these lights again
and I’m so lost I get surprised when the music ends

we zip up our coats to leave
as I think at least I won’t be dying
my hair platinum blonde tonight

New Old Friends

You said I looked happier
and I thought you looked more genuine like
the friend I had originally befriended
before we went for a walk

And oh how we talked

I chattered excitedly, partly
hopped up from caffeine
it felt like hours passed

and I could hardly keep up with my words and for once I didn’t care because we were talking like we had talked from the start but everything was new again and it was like I was making a brand new bestfriend all over again

I rode back to my car
in your car, bringing out
the bone dust in our pockets
that we decided to sprinkle
out the window

And as I left your car
after our awkward car hug
the clouds began to sniffle
before erupting into weeping
leaving me to get into my car
thinking that the gods
that may or may not exist
sure have a flair for the cinematic

I drove home with the music off
tears in my eyes because of how much
I missed my old friend and how good
it was to see you and know how close
we still are despite the growing pains

I arrived home, excitedly tired
before letting you know I was home safe

And I smiled as I read
the last text sent by you that night:
“See you soon, my friend.”


I woke to soft shades of blue in my soul
little infants of feelings I couldn’t describe
watching as they grew up right before my eyes
from toddling toddlers to angsty adolescence
filling my adult body

I ran to the Lion’s Den
exploring its trails for hours
before sitting down for lunch
and being forced to let them sit with me

Traveling home
all I wanted was indefinite sleep
no desire to die, but no will to live

But as the sun sets, so to do the blues
bored with tormenting me for today


As I watch a black bird
fly to the top of a tree
I can’t help but wonder:
can birds be afraid of heights?

If so, do they get teased,
given nicknames like “kiwi”
and always being hit with seeds
from other bird bullies in high up trees?

What’s real estate like for them?
Do they have to pass up penthouses
for not so bougie bungalows
in the marshes with frogs and mosquitoes
as their not-so-conventional neighbors?

Are family gatherings a nightmare
spent trying to hold it together
hundreds of feet on a small tree branch
as in-laws talk about their new pet flea?

And do they even want to overcome their fear,
or have they become content with their life
preferring to live outside of the nestbox
close to ground?

I mull through this and the bird squawks
as it soars away to its next stop
reminding me to quit overthinking
and walk home

I Know How Lucky I Am

Hearing that song I’m brought back to that bed
where you’d been whittling wood

making an elephant if I remember right

At that time

over half a decade’s moons passed
to be precisely particular

I was falling in love
not realizing how the song
would come to bring chills of finger tips to my body
touching me and my space without my permission

But that song doesn’t touch me the same way anymore
much like how your violent gestures have stopped long ago
leaving me in an empty room that I’ve come to fill
with framed photographs and objects of love in action

From People I’ve regrettably hurt along the way
waiting for them to lose their patience with me
in some sick self-fulfilling prophecy

I know now that, after what you did to me,
I wasn’t always the easiest person to love
with my scared silence and irrational fears of being yelled at

or worse

always testing the boundaries to see if this person was just
going to be like the monster you were

But everyday I learn more about myself
and I Know How Lucky I Am
to know you wouldn’t even recognize me today
and I’m so glad

you’ll never know anything about me anymore

Writed Lefts

Righting wrongs
is hard when words dry up
when things go

down south

to mass graves of San Fernando

When I’d prefer to think
my actions are left justified


I know that’s not true —
I know I’ve overreacted.
After time, guilt becomes
a comfortable uncomfortability

A fine balancing act of managing
a stack of plates
wobbling unevenly in the center of my stomach
on a bowling ball of shame

I wish I could stop and stare at the plates
only getting to briefly look at passing images
of mazes, negatives, and a red prius among other things
before stacking them onto an ever-growing pile


in control of it all
is that damned bowling ball in the shape
of a person’s head with hair dyed crimson
and jagged fangs that sunk in

leaving scars in my teens

deep in my amygdala

from a slinking snake

an immortal hydra
no matter how many
heads I cut off

It couldn’t be beat

until I learned,
like the computer in WarGames,
that “the only winning move is not to play”


I sit in a garden of snakes
offspring of the hydra
mortal, but ever-resurfacing

And I know

It’s time to grow up and leave
this garden of garter snakes
waiting for the next one to bite
so I can draw attention to a preventable pain

I intend to leave this yard today
and turn it into a research site
only meant to teach me a life lesson
and never to hurt me
or anyone else again


cattails cut through ice
in a half-frozen marsh
hidden from the wind

the sun warms my face
as birds lay down beats
for nature’s latest
lo-fi hip hop track

it’s been a quiet winter
as Nature worked in secrecy
no tweets announcing its drop
until it’s released midday
to no fanfare

it’s simply simple simplicity sounds
like their very first album complete
with that signatory Natural hook
of rumbling animal sounds

it’s nothing new, that’s for sure
but you know me;
I’m a sucker for
simple sweets