now reset to cyclical sad: it is natural, when the green comes loosein fluid forgiving, to find solace in the Old. slicing through fallingtime imagining a baby here, in this place, with this music -- or the strain of itat another place. rummaging through person unbeset by aberration - 30 secondbrain-warp! the internet produces a… Continue reading poem: coven of fifteen
Tag: coming of age
poem: belle and sebastian
grown-up teenage ennui, I'm middle-aged I'm middle-agedyou sing to all the kids, eternally dying, out in America-nowhere. whatkind of cry can the old outcast make, wearing commercial successwith the same joviality that drove me, 17, to findyou, fellow-shut in, beneath the bookstore bookshelf; you toldme about the thin lines between continuing and not, andother fictions.… Continue reading poem: belle and sebastian
writing: talent is its own expectation
She was determined to not be someone who projected her regrets onto her children or had a mid-life crisis at forty-five and so needed the reminder of her twenties to be an exercise in living dangerously. This was wrapped up with the desire to read philosophy and to do it fast and do it now… Continue reading writing: talent is its own expectation
poem: dear you
she made an online zine, entitled "arrested development" because no-onewould take her. he playedbass in long strands, summer afternoon, but shecould not taste it in her mouth, she declined the lessons. where is the placefor this writing -- wannabe song lyrics push the glass sky, alive in a magiccult; the crowd thronged they shoutedthe lyrics… Continue reading poem: dear you
poem: interview with the musician
millennial miasma, she says my best work is my nostalgia. critic who called the intended readership of sally rooneynovels: the generation spending their student loan repaymentpayouts on turmeric lattes; critic who called the gen z scene frictionless: their "scene" is thespotify algorithm. and I find this oddly appealing oddly sadI am here in the call-out!… Continue reading poem: interview with the musician
poem: twenty-four
when asked if there was a God in his filmuniverse -- who would intervene -- Wes Anderson said, yes. the girl atwork who is prettier than me is likely planning to kill me, dissolve me slowly into her perfect hips and secret knowledge of social networks. you laugh butshe would have ignored me in highschool… Continue reading poem: twenty-four
poem: book review
my stomach was in disarray -- I called my editor at five in the morning and said I cannot writea review for this kind of book. where the father leavesand the daughter grows up alone. I know that kind of book already, it isa weed around my ribs. I take it out on my mother… Continue reading poem: book review
poem: the art of fiction no. 1
my aunt is a poet, my aunt is this old womanwho sits framed in windowsills and does not recognize the windowsill, the divide between inside/outside, she tells that shitlike it is; that is the privilege of being old, when I talklike that, people call me a bitch. but all I am doing is telling the… Continue reading poem: the art of fiction no. 1
poem: the sun also rises
I have this idea of maine -- the ocean is a small god, a constantalways suicide; there are pine trees like there werepine forests in my childhood, their raging phallic heads high above the fire, the drifting smote, the cow-flysilluminated from behind and turned into fairies. I have this ideaof paris, with long cafe-evenings enveloped… Continue reading poem: the sun also rises
poem: shifting
remember? i dreamed aboutthis kind of bliss but now in the pulled-apart strings of myheart there is onlya dull long ache and the aluminum footsteps of heart-burncoming up from my chest like a foreign man crossing overmy seven boarders his handsstill wet. remember? we were going to takethe world i woke you up in the… Continue reading poem: shifting
the last pavilion 