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
Tag: poetry
poem: getting back into things
pop culture re-work through the freeze, the dead years atpinnacle of our youth. i am too scared to confront feeling - good lit ficirony, she dies when she wants to live, how boring. songwritingis a gift I do not have, the days slow down -- memories rip and wreckwithout warning, virgin birth: vivid grass smell,… Continue reading poem: getting back into things
poem: blog update
countdown to Self-Immolation/Explosion, new verge into briefand lolz - submissions session yet again? I never had a betterfriend; I never wept a better end. ship of theseus: mother metaphornot yet over-run, Default Virgin on the surface of online, on the coral reefof interwebs. going skinny like skinny-dipping new girl/old sex in New York, I briefly… Continue reading poem: blog update
poem: ship of theseus
there's a messy verge -- to conduct through the past lush/heatand moans against the chair, how much reanimates, how muchcomes into me, felt again -- now the narrative has softened, we makeplans to drive out of town and drink tonight, ice creampints; somenight the new-word in my lap will remake -- division of time, i… Continue reading poem: ship of theseus
poem: the ick after “big red son”
in faraway -- two-and-half-highway drive, the Californiaheat de-panels into California porn, sitting in summer lightlace tanktop and gold Cross/Saint medallion, I am kept --meeting the underworld only through the clay feet ofonce glamorous men, now revealed to be down in the moral yuck, he says the sexualization of real life versus actual real life, I… Continue reading poem: the ick after “big red son”
poem: rally
the far night and far torches, the kept men let -- out --she made circles in the outskirts, she had debated between the optics ofskirt/pants. she finally decided on convenience; the baby wasthe curve inside cargo-pants, his little fingers, china-spindles, like under-eyelid sleep; heturns and waits inside her, for -- brave new world, his profileis… Continue reading poem: rally
poem: parasocialite
unread book, brought to coffee shop as SkinTrophy; the flies light-breeze around my face, they smelldeath thin-made around my potential. i compromise, say i will read it on the road-trip, tomorrow, when we go hurtling through more of California looking to get married. but they knowI am lying; the summer-heat sucks me, wet-mouth,like a friend:… Continue reading poem: parasocialite
poem: sensual objects, part two
she found him laying, curled upon his ownfragmented bits -- protestanting loneliness, denying denyinga conspiracy of melted, mutedfeeling -- she said i know, you are a warm bodyin the morning, your sadness adrift and pulled back, tidebefore the shores, before the sun. she said i have worn down porn into cortisol paths and I don't… Continue reading poem: sensual objects, part two
poem: (trying) to read at work
boy on the pink-red diving board -- vile men lined up in chairs --"has it gotten any better up here?"we are not past the point of logical digression; at leastwe are not in the rubix-cubicle-grey. changing the ebookinterface to make Difference (knowledge is an emptyhouse)-- i go on long walks afterwork, through the work sunshine… Continue reading poem: (trying) to read at work
poem: vainglory
as one forgettable moment he was instead boxed upand carried into the currents of many weeks, in which the fear of first lovehad me swept like a rag alongthe Mormon suburban streets, at dusk, my heart at cardio-tempo, what if what if what -- he is a rebound, I am wicked. the quickness kept the… Continue reading poem: vainglory
the last pavilion 