Words. Lots of Words.

Quarters — January 18, 2017


And sometimes, there is nothing more to say

about the mist, the puddles,

than that existence is a very great and very terrible burden

-made no less terrible


by the greed and responsibility of knowledge.

And some days, weigh on you like stones

like quarters move around the world, quickly

palm to palm


-and gravity weighs even more.

But sometimes, if you move fast enough

make pretty enough stories


reality itself can be enthralled through the night

it can forget you are under its domain

and then,


you may outrun the day itself.

Borne Fruits — January 16, 2017

Borne Fruits

I was born in the beginning of the dark.


Maybe, I would see the end

of this hundred year night. Maybe, I said-

shoving away mortality as only mortals



We were told to live in the spaces

that eradicating wealth left,

the rivets and screws that held

this metal box together


the way my hands held you.

Making a life of bodies, without

making myths of purposefulness,

eating the last of the pomegranate seeds


all twelve of them. And then I kissed you,

making no legacy. My mother never found me,

and I never saw the winter’s end


though I was well acquainted with warmths.



Masses — January 13, 2017


You  say this place belongs to me



this ball of smog,

this black hole that emenates from you

pulls me in


so dark that not even these pages

can make a home.


the walls fester

the pestilence of the overwritten haunting

that should have been cleansed

many moons ago.


and so I must don

my hazmat suit

enact quarantine protocols

preserve what life there is


make sure I am healthy enough to treat the sick

strong enough to pull them free of your gravity

guiltless enough let go of those already dead.


On why robots are not found in fairytales — January 12, 2017
Pathways to Purgatory — January 9, 2017

Pathways to Purgatory

This city is filled with ghosts


they laugh on patios,

you can see the foot prints

of the paths they walked

like glowing pebbles in the moonlight.


This melody is filled with ghosts.


they join you in the dance

the steps you have traced over until

you are at corners without memory

of the paths you took to get there.


This life is filled with ghosts.


they come into your house and make coffee.

they gaze too long at your mortality

until you wish  your body

was so transparent


as the stories you have walked through

their pieces strewn across the blocks,

the song, the walls.


Semantic Satiation — January 7, 2017

Semantic Satiation

There are infinite centers.


Spaces, around which

the universe could be reckoned.

Points, which could maintain

the illusion that the home I leave and return to is




It is no good


trying to find blackness

in blackness.


find the break in the stride

between steps.


find the place at which body ends

and the world begins.


This raw world

made of sandpaper and frozen breath



the invincibility of rhythm,

the incantation, interrupted.

The Luminous Dialogues — January 5, 2017

The Luminous Dialogues

You have fled
behind the veil of sleep
but I remain, here
an old friend of the Twilight.
She asks me of the verses
spinning  on loop in my head,
being copied to memory,  wonders
if they conflict with the universes
I am crafting from the shadows on your skin.
We gossip like schoolchildren
trying to puzzle out
the code of your breath
The window rattles jealously,
but darkness does not come.
Poisonous Immortality — January 2, 2017

Poisonous Immortality

I cannot hide this,

cannot make it sideways enough.


This shame, this rawness

that I will trace over later

again, and again, like the words

are your body.


They are not safe, not sterile

there is still the wound of possibility,

the gash of might be.


What is a memory,

of a memory?


Is it an awful lot

like a poem?


Like these dripping words

about two bodies, walking

into a cold sunrise.