(2025) JULY 3 10:05AM
And what is the point of a shoe with laces that don't stay tied longer than four minutes one if i'm walking. 
If I'm walking I'm certainly also standing. I can say how can I help you today and maybe even thank you have a good one.
I think about coffee. I think about my words after they leave me.
Everyone in this house wants their mommy, I think. Everybody has a little crusty puppy or a massive hound that they
bring around. Carry around like a keychain or a child or both, Labubu.
It's about to be summer. It's summer actually. We outside I think. Young nigga preach, preach, preach, preach , pre, each, pre, preach.
I went to church in the time we last spoke I went and pretty much nothing happened to me besides the choice I made to believe something did which was largely powerful. 
I think of my self as a vortex for pleasure. I think of myself.
I make a noise like a propane grill. exhaling.
I need a more substantial vocabulary and I need my memory back.
I don't actually, I appreciate communicating with the intention of understanding. I don't mean to be vague but I don't mean to isolate. I believe this is the most fair way.

OCT 8 9:45PM
Tenderly.


This rocking chair. And two more.
Parallel corners. 
There are bodies in each one, relatives static and talking.
I sway without meaning to.
I’m covered in some kind of blanket, wreathed around my legs.
Helpful, can’t move anyhow. Warm.

They talk and continue talking. They go on.
Spirits sift through, in and out like sun flares.
The shape of an idea of a body. memoria.

A window I notice immediately and for the first time is in the center.
Deep black.
A figure sits staring back at me. Staring past maybe.
An old man, bearded, ostensibly gray.
Past him the bridge.

The bridge on which the very next morning, if I can manage
I will notice a woman. I will notice her fall.
I will fall as soon as the thought hits me and we will meet some ten-to-twenty feet below.
Like flies in a net, like shrimp. 
We will notice bystanders looking down in terror and begrudged delight. We will wait to be rescued.
I will notice her sleeping. I will feel warm.


JUN 26 11:30AM
Selfishly, typically, I felt freezing cold.
Like something was wrong with my skin or like there was a force field insulating nothing.
Colder the closer I got to touching things, you, everybody.
If I think about it, the most miraculous experience I’ve had recently was sitting on the bus, holding something in my head, watching bands of strangers glance at
each other and then away again. Feeling the bus shake so violently you almost can’t control your lungs. In and out. Smiling at your ring because it symbolizes some
coincidence and some level of romance that might just be bigger to me than it is to you but I wouldn’t really know because I wouldn’t ask.
I get jealous reading everything. It’s inevitable like missing the bus like over-eating.
I harden and it’s not cute I harden in the way an egg is hard, technically.
Selfishly I wanted you to touch me. Then selfishly I wrote it out. I feel touched now just thinking it. So that when it happens I might miss it.

JUN 17 9:42PM
Che cosa? Nothing. 
I sat chin firm on the table steady sipping my drink. 
One. two. three. Lips puckered. Going on like this for an hour. 
A restaurant named after my dead dog.
I dripped onto the floor like wax.
My face like El Capitan by the end of it. 
Why did you have a child then? I asked the nothing right in front of me. Why did you have me? I asked the father.
With a heavy hand on my shoulder he comforts me and it leaves a mark. 
I walk the sea and it attends to me. 
Picking at clothes on hangers like carefully curated weeds, like candy.

MAY 17 6:31PM
Dawn, is the name of the text.
One tear I carefully hid as it slid separated and kissed the bookend bed,
Your face, lips, my appointment and my likeness floating somewhere between this and tomorrow.
This comes out of me like sap needing to be wiped up and then like zaps like light waves like the double-slit on a paper wall, penetrating it like needles.
This comes out of me and unto a test-recording a memory a pillow a consciousness afloat, above, surrounding.
Love, luff draw us toward the point.

MARCH 1 10:51AM
Claire de lune.
Char, curl up, char.
Epiphany mechanics.
A sunbeam swept 
Soda stream good old fashioned coke still
Made the old fashioned way at this junction trumpets, horns all the same spill, ooze sounds really,
Could be like slam poetry could be the curtain again the laundry flattening again the book the toolbox the ether between.
A girl a gasket, pin prick deutoronomy economy and so on.
Spitting, blubbering for a piece you'll give in due time because we know it to be true because we've felt it or we got a notice in a routine coma or something.

DEC 16 12:40PM
A calm-ish breeze
a darkening of the sun and consequently the earth 
Below 
A pulsating wasp, no, a bee
Dying out on the concrete tile. 
Lint, feather, dust seem to follow you, lay on the shoulder a while. A tired family charging uphill. 
Tickle. Hello Kitty Garage sale. 

DEC 16 10:20PM
Pieces of a conversation had in two rooms
Separated, parted rather, by space and the unwillingness to bear the teeth proudly. 
The teeth bore anyway. And down the street at separate intervals half-hours apart from each other. 
And at the cafe and all of the way home, until finally at the starting point again. Bearing, gripping, chipping off. 
So that in a year’s time the new teeth would be born and the mouths birthing them would be softer, more tired.

NOV 2 9:08PM
In doing so we forgot

Squatting obediently by the freeway. On a human-made sand dune. 
Everything glitters. Shines all over the place. 
I used to think of a rubber-band as having two sides, one on either end when stretched taught. 
I failed to consider a rubber band is circular, obviously. I also failed to consider my price. A couple times. Too many times. 
I considered the moon. A lot.
I considered it’s waning. Every time it did crawling back into myself. Eye-roll.. 

A Phrygian scale lays flat on the floor, a salted slug. A compass. An umbrella. 
All time stamps. 
I can pause my video I can pay to skip the advertisements.
I cannot forgive my price. 
As you cannot yours. 

I can watch the filming of the movie play out over and over again each take bleeding out a little more hush-shushing away the first-aid kit and eventually drying up and ripening in smell like a poison flower I cannot forgive my price like a french-fry smothered in the good stuff ‘til you’re oh so full until you’re bloated and i’m shit coming out of the dogs ass by the side of the freeway during sunset when everything shines. 

And so honesty has its death rattle.
Joke. 
A decoy while you calculated nothing. 
Dangling the carrot. Configuring a button-activated reward by deadline. 
The lab closes and you’re there with the white and the rats eyes and a couple pieces of cheese and a bottle of hormones and no one to tell you how to play. 
Itching and shuffling in your lab coat and pushing air out of your nostrils. Clicking your tongue. 
Like you were driving a quiet passenger. 

You think about going now three hours ‘til the shift starts that’s an hour home an hour back whats one hour waiting yeah well I didn’t ask for it either by the way.

OCT 11 1:37AM
. like nothing like wind. like a hammer to my back. a striking.
slash me in the face with a knife and i’ll ask why it bleeds.
i keep thinking about the wind. the window, too. 
scared by the shadow of me in it. 
keep good company with strangers. keep on. 
i feel there are holes in my hands i feel someone else’s vomit on my chest, I can’t really breathe too good lately i talk about what’s true too much what’s true
to me and to God but maybe you haven’t caught it yet. 
all that i have is my heart shaped pillow and my monologuing and my bible and all of you, inside all of it. 
and what do you want with it. 
a surprisingly impossible question asking people you would give a kidney to. 

SEPT 25 1:22AM
This is my poem called MOAB. This is a fragment of something I can't make sense of something I can't put into words, something I really don't want to.
How to say anything truer than this. 
Something comes out of a smaller something still. 
My mouth lock-jawed open eyes sagging slow, becoming putty, became shut. 
Like fireworks like electricity like an elephant strapped to a bomb. 

Smelled like vanilla, like snow. 
It smelled like the plane I was on like formaldehyde when I saw it. Felt like a secret a sentence like mocking like mocking like mocking like mocking it was. 
I could do it right now yep only if you wanted me to though you probably don’t but I could if you wanted. 

SEPT 3 10:12AM
Cause she looks like an actor 
an
Insolent mare
A cadaver
Maul me like a bear
Playing tennis 
Competition gets messy
It’s actually less surprising in my dreams
In my experience It’s equally as disturbing

SEPT 2 10:57AM
Injured fly hovers
No, I won’t hold your hands
It’s probably true until it isn’t
I must have a horrible look on my face
Like a stamp
Like ten thousand tons of pressure on a sponge

AUG 22 11:57AM 
Forget my names, unimportant. A little bit evil. Trying so hard. Working like a fire ant. 
Lapping up water from a bowl, spilling out, tipping over. 
In between a pillow and a soft place!!!!!
Biting my nails again, can’t sit still around it. Obviously. 

A Poem I Wrote in November:
Like when a plane is perfectly 
Centered between two apartment building silhouettes
North star moving south
Floating
Dims, passing a power line
Maybe a cloud
Then you see the blinking engines 
And are reminded again of your mortality

You’re shoved with amazing force
By the bus starting-stopping

Sweeping crystals of rice 
From your counter
Always finding one more than you assumed there were
Struggling to open the trash chute without
Spilling all over yourself

Deleting-entering-deleting again. 
You forget what it was you were supposed to say.
Were you supposed to say something?

JULY 31 6:26AM:
Just after dawn
your arms clutched around your chest,
bracing for something. 
I pet the hair on them, you shivered. 
I noticed more freckles on you than I had before. 
You were so peaceful. Usually always that way. 
I counted your breaths, tried to match them, held mine. 
I hoped you were secretly awake. 
I hoped you could feel me staring. I couldn’t stop. 
You took my sleep.
The blue light fell around your shoulders like a silk bolero. 

JULY 18th, "Killing Adam in the Mojave":
Whizzing Whirring past, flor-fauna. 
His head still in the driver’s seat. 
Opening my breast I thought 
I could feel him breathe into me. 
It’s surprisingly easy to get away with murder. 
Alone in the desert. Broke down. Inconsequential blip. 
He was just heading back from Vegas. 
I’d have a snack on the way home. I stopped for road kill. Read psalms. Waving in the wind, shading us from our kin. 

JULY 16th 12:26AM: 
Won’t you come sit here and watch this car chase with me I say to my invisible wife. He just stole a third car, he’s turning left into oncoming. 
Yes dear she says. She brings me milk and I drink it. Listen to the commentator sigh with relief that nobody was hurt. Its a god damned shame, I say. 
A gahd damned shame. Would you trim my fingernails dear. No. Yes my toes dear. Thank you dear.

JULY 9th 12:30PM: 
   I get a weird feeling in what I’m assuming is my womb, every time I drink a diet coke. It’s like. 
   It’s like when advertisement airplanes have to fly back to base. Everything flipped, prideful. 
   I wish I could be child height again, so I saw more bugs and moths. Ants. Stuff like that.
   Don’t like the air up here. 
   Angry typing. 
   Angry sleeping. 
   It’s fun to drop it when everyone’s wrong.
   
   I stared at the hole in your back for an hour.
   
JUN 18th 12:46PM: 
My phantom limb.
The Japan-shaped mole under my right breast.
Shakira’s “She Wolf”, let it out so it can breathe.
The burning sensation my forearms sometimes get.
When I’m agitated. Or maybe right before. 
A shadow cast by a moth on the ceiling.
Plastic. Metal. Copper. Iron scented everything. 
Three minutes 'til the next train. Two now. 
I have to tie my shoe laces. Get on without me ok.

JUN 15th 3:28PM: 
Steamy blue. Light on the face. Teased by the red of a miniature stage. 
Your best friend sits adjacent. Your hologram. 
Your belly aches, full of nothing important. Some alcohol. A chunk of snail. 
You smell soil. You smell a garbage truck. You can't move or maybe you don't want to. 
Standing up seems like a lot. Like a performance. Not a big deal, you think. 
But you try to think this about most things. You hate confrontation. You hate ignoring stuff. 
You think you'll make up a lie. You can't think of anything cool or interesting enough. You can't think of anything alarming enough. 
You say nothing for the next few hours. You say things but they're nothing. You think maybe you've forgotten how to say anything real. 
You seem to get beat to it every time. 
You sip, finish, go to bed, wake up, walk home, repeat probably.

JUN 6th 11:16AM: Peach mango strawberry watermelon ice BC5000 is a beautiful name for a baby girl. Sometimes I pretend the bile in my stomach causing me to bloat is an early-stage fetus and I plan on carrying it to term. Would be cool to be a father.

JUN 5th 1:50PM: Misty. About 7:30 in the morning. My auxiliary arms pawing the bed like sensors. Why is my phone in the bed. Why are you so quiet? You probably hear me typing this right now you’re probably letting me get away with it. You probably heard my dream last night. Since we sleep so close. How can someone asleep so long remain so still. Why do I feel like I’m being punished for waking before you. Why is my phone in the bed under yours.

Sandwiches (10/14/22)
im perfecting my little triangular 
Party invites. 
Like the sandwiches you like to cut out for me. 
What ribbon variety will meet your lips as you 
Chew the note to shreds.
Tell me about your pressing obligations. 
I’ll watch your mouth, agape and oozing its sly expression. 
Begging me to inquire. 
“More, do tell. Are you happy at home? 
Would you be happier here?”
What are you crazy?

JUN 14, 2022
I am the crumpled up paper
Im the glass that you managed
To avoid cutting yourself with

I flatten myself out
Be the book on top of me

Give it a week

Hunger, A Poem I Read At Some Contest in May 2022:

Creaky Banjo
Hollowed out

strings timbre on
Playing for a faint heart

Sunken everywhere 
And here
And there
Below my accordion ribs

Between bowed legs
Violent, violet violin

This orchestra plays muted