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The train gurgles with people who gurgle to other people about their days, weather and the way in which the world works, which includes days and weather and me, sitting and looking and seeing what appears to be myself in someone else, the fried spaghetti for hair, the nose like a snail shell, the crust … Continue reading
He loves me like a mouth to a lame kiss that burns common sayings but leaves no mark for he, Mark as he’s known, makes no noise while caressing my hand and using the fleshy fold to pray that he will not ruin the bare moment. What have I done to deserve this? * The fossil … Continue reading
Write me a letter and I’ll see a dictionary of you and I in between the dear and period that is the first in English that goes on when after the end in my reply and in the lack thereof. * I wasted my hands wrangling this poem and your neck. * People read poems to get … Continue reading
Dear dear, I slobber. I suppose you know this in your ceaseless scrub-scrubbing of bedsheets, the pillows that dribble with drizzles of enzymes and undigested food, and the hair that holds prime nibbles and germs. Your mouth too, from my kisses. It’s been a while since I’ve kissed you, and a while longer since my … Continue reading
Does a poet cut themselves into stanzas or do stanzas cut themselves into a poet? * I am on my knees in a dark closet just like before, where a man who could be disrobed tells me to look to the cross and pray that I change and change to prayer, so I do, chin … Continue reading
Little matters until it matters because it mattered and because you are little compared to the excess of a grocery store in its heavy light and bubbly pop and you are holding two bags of chip trying to figure which you prefer, cool ranch or ranched cool, and you think either is fine because either is … Continue reading
Everything is terrible, because capitalism bought our need and confused it with want; because want was not enough; because enough was a concept defined by people who wanted, needed, and confused themselves before we were born; because we were born; because others weren’t, others who could change and mobilize, not be so lazy to sit and … 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
I am the son of a son of a son of the Sun, which is a yellow blob that blobs yellow in my hair, which is a product of happenstance and mutation and love and anything but, which is an anatomical feature that I have and am lucky enough to share with my family who … Continue reading
Sloan Thill is a man who is hard to reach and who promises to be harder next time. His house sits on a seedless patch of mud off the coast of Yacolt Burn State Forest in Washington, which he later boasts has the highest number of serial criminals per square kilometre. It is a small wood … Continue reading
Mizpellt wurdz 