-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
If you fit human history into a poem you find that anything that has happened has happened because of love and anything that didn’t was because of love too, which leaves you wondering who made you write the poem in the first place. * 3 am creeps finding me lonely in bed listening to the … Continue reading
Poetry is sad and starving for everything is left in the barenaked spaces of the lines that flirt and twist each other’s hair into knots that can only be combed out with long kisses and shared breaths and deep, sweet sighs yet the next line comes too quick and tearing, leaving the knot untied and the … Continue reading
Are you sure you want to buy those she asks as she passes me a pack with pictures of people on the front who look like me if I were shrivelled, exhausted little cigarette stubs that had trouble breathing which I do because I don’t answer but instead look at her while she looks at me … Continue reading
She looks down as I leave not seeing that I look up and notice that the white birch in her living room with its fake birds glued on the branches, stuck and immobile, and its fallen leaves swept away and the rest left dusty, bends away from the sunlight. * My mouth is dry while … Continue reading
The following was published in Incite, December 2013, during their time theme. It’s loud nonsense. * “Shouldn’t we be dead?” “Maybe we already are?” “I don’t think so.” “What do you mean?” “Well, I mean, I’m here, wherever that may be, and you’re there, wherever that may be.” “You sound so far away, though.” “So do … Continue reading
I have become my parents. They ask me questions and want help and in that shift of how and which remote and can you build me a website, they stop being my parents with certainty and answers like what is a lever for or why the sky is blue and I stop being them too … Continue reading
The rain falls on a summer’s day for it doesn’t know any better. * There is sun in my eyes so I cannot see that it is a beautiful morning where the birds do sing and the plants do grow and there’s a bustle going on around me and that will go on with out me … Continue reading
She took my poems out from my fingers and spread them across my lips so that each letter I smeared she smeared onto me first with her look or her heels or her cheeks or her self. I’m stained. * Covers fall in between us and she has never been more distant. Is the bed … Continue reading
I’m told you’re a writer. Not really. What do you do then? Some things. Like what? I teach. What? Chemistry sometimes. Do you do chemistry? Not anymore. Then why teach it? I guess because I can, because I did do it for a while. Sounds like an excuse. Maybe. You must’ve not enjoyed it enough. … Continue reading
God may not play dice, but he certainly has a good poker face. Thing is I don’t know if he is bluffing about his cards or about the game. Or maybe, as the puddles of coins shrink and overflow in uneven, unfair proportions, oozing and draining from the sewer grates that are the surrounding hands, … Continue reading
Mizpellt wurdz 