Sunday, December 8, 2019

saved by?



maybe a song won't change
some people's minds but
this view of the bar where
my mom goes later

meet me at midnight

...don't be late 
on his t-shirt coming down
the cobblestones

acting all rushed on
34th street, stoic
but actually loving
the shitshow
the bells and Mariah

i say to myself oh,
won't you stay?
swallow
die a little
and Go
there will be
mountains...

Saved With(?) Amazing Grace
the mimes at church
in jeans and t-shirts
maybe a song won't
change some people's minds
but
SWAGS' painted face
the baby in the balcony
yelling
amen

the man in the choir
that my grandma loved
his face
so sunken
he seems barely alive
someone said he won't
eat anymore but he's
singing a solo, got
everyone going

ever see the button on your shirt
move with your heartbeat?

amen?



i am the restaurant and the restaurant is me part 1,000,000

muttering while gliding
through the restaurant
back to work
says boss, like a mad dad
his stale breath
a very unbecoming harmony
to the scold
berated for not calling the delivery driver on time
for the catering order i wasn't told about
dad leaves no choice
but for us to rebel
security cameras in every corner
we've halfway installed
surveillance
in our own heads
but goof off anyways
come in on my day off
to pick up a sandwich
no food in my own fridge
sustenance
or servitude?

Every Prank Is A Blessing

South Philly Italian restaurant
60-something hostess with hair
fried by years of dying and fluffing
jersey snakeskin blouse billowing
as she clicks around the dining room
eyes held in place by black eyeliner
serene drooping smile
loudly giving the shy server shit
for setting a table wrong
you never get anything right

the door at the end of the dining room
with a stained glass window
reading Gianna’s Room
emerald ribbons
powder puff flowers
victorian debutant saloon
style stained glass
waiters go in and out
the sliding door reveals for a moment
the private party
giggles
young versions of the hostess
adjusting their skirts
sometimes makeup is magic
and sometimes makeup
is just makeup

Friday, December 6, 2019

Firm & Sweet

thank you
Jean-Jacques
for more
yoga wisdom
he reminds us to
be firm and sweet

Ben says
there is no 
talking cure
for abject poverty
he wants to have
a private practice
and help who he can

discussion of
couple in full shiny
bdsm leather gear
mom crawling, on a leash
held by dad
dad, pushing a stroller
toddler in stroller

Stanley our guy
who pays for the coffee later
and works endlessly on his
handwritten calendar
because he doesn't
trust any old calendar
you could buy at the store

he yells across the room to ask
what's your name again?
when I tell him he says
oh ok, ok
did I tell you
Kayla and I are 
having 10 kids?

I clarify that's how many
you have now?
no no he says we're in 
the process though
do you think that's too many?
I tell him I don't think
I could handle that
and mix sugar and cream
into his coffee for him


i gotta find peace of mind


head against the wall
type spirals not
a cute roommate
to mom
i let her cat
bite me

it's not in the computer

it's in the back
& i miss it even
when i'm there

100% concrete block

to reflect later on it's
embedded gems

leave time alone!
and the months
in between

woke with sick
awareness of organs

her beautiful face
at late dinner

i'm undone because





Thursday, December 5, 2019

listen mama, listen papa

  wake up three
times in the night
     the handshake
yeah I mean 
  it's not about you
  why do I ask men
to give me the answers
  reactionary
why do I need so
much help
    what do your
parents do?
 race traitor
class traitor
    the beautiful
possibilities, don't turn
your back on
  past revolutions
go whole hog because
   there is nothing
 to lose but your chains
   my mind is a buzz
read the packet
   three times
  cap cancer cap cancer
why astrology?
  humans need
systems even when they say
they reject religion
  Sotheby's Christie's
Agatha Auction
   house read Wikipedia article
about the Iranian
revolution at 2:32 am
   dream we
had a party
at the restaurant
   at night but it
 was decorated
like a chintzy
   Miami hotel, seashell
pink curved white furniture
   and he brought so much
  coke to the party
and the security
   cameras the next day
I had to beg
    the bosses
 not to fire him
please, papa
  please, mama
and the boss
commented on
  how his coke
looked shitty
  then I got on the subway
which was more like
   the fairground ride
with individual swings
hanging from
 long chains
you had to catch one
   from the cement edge
  of the platform
and slide onto it
 legs dangling over
a dark abyss
  oh to
be
  in
love
and
 never
get out
again


Wednesday, December 4, 2019

Why

don’t I understand anything

temporalis (part 1)


our holding hands
cropped at the rink I mean
that's it

who am i today
except for the times
walking my granda
over the ice




down the hall
you're descending
                            see 
                            it's sunny 


your head 
on the window
                       and snowy at once 



call me           ?


all these weird things
throb

the newspaper framed
in her necklace 

fuck this bedroom 
for harvesting
respite


Soup to Nuts

that's all

"unconscionable" tbt

I know the root is
"conscience" but the
way it's pronounced, I think
"conch" like there is
no seashell, the seashell
of the mind, roaring white noise
in an empty chamber
what can't you conch?
the seashell of the mind
empty, floating

sit on the bench by where
the trollies turn around
someone cracks open a beer
also alone, I don't want
to be a spy anymore
the privilege of observing
the words stuck in my mind
sometimes when I'm sitting still
with my eyes closed I can slice
through my empty body
like air, I imagine it so easy
a butterknife zig zagging
from the top of my head
to the bottom of my feet

walking through the city at night
"University City", "West"
Cowboy and I become
invisible, again the spy
the Penn student in his living
room in a dress shirt
holding a candelabra?
the uneven bricks of
the sidewalk, so many bricks
like people on this planet
I had a thought about them
warping, waving into
rolling hills over tree roots

sometimes my eyes zoom out
and see the trees lining a street
from an omnipotent perspective
and I see how gravity
and wind have acted on them
and I see just how alive they are and
ready to take over or fall over
how silly to plant them surrounded
by sidewalk

Tuesday, December 3, 2019

Identity to Go

getting emails from nobody
about my fingerprinting appointment
in the “Pennovation” building
I’m told to walk in what feels
like a spiral of hallways
past the “Ghost Robotics Lab”
just one tired fingerprinter
in a tiny cubicle at the end of a hallway
he says he’s been doing this for years
:(

undying


snowed in and
can't comprehend
any bit of the book
this 5 am
the shadeless lamp
already reading
about body damage
exhausted 
but make plans
in the dark
for a bagel

i'm 13 again
the blinds always drawn

the heater was
my dad coming home
so many times 

i watched
the sunset but also
the whole day before 
and the whole night after









Monday, December 2, 2019

heaven is other people

will a child find me 
by a stream
   my eyes feel like
they're gonna bleed
 kiss 
    my petals
 weave me 
   through a dream
    on my own 
here I go

(it's a mash up of "les fleurs"
and "brain stew")

budget the day
drug test at LabCorp
just popping out to
use a public restroom

the Pee Tech's hair
matches her lipstick
exactly
mauve/auburn
mauvburn
scrubs also

computer for work
guitar
computer for fun
guitar
hungry
clean house time
to do list vs
dream task

the Christmas toy I found on the street
next to me in it's box reading
"TWO TIE PRAMID"
beckons me to assemble

how the fuck is it 4pm
scream boat

Sunday, December 1, 2019

town...


how the teacher says
i'll wait 

the manifesto
a splitting headache

walk by the library
longingly

the vein under his
eye when he's
tired

frozen cocktail
of fuel and winter

the avenue
would never 
be what it was 

dd (dear diary)


at the party I think
all I do is want
answers
attention
to get some laughs
to get to the meat
to love and be loved
tell myself tomorrow
I will stop wanting so much
will contain myself



tiny proportionate port glasses
a plastic folding table for the booze
spread of fancy digestifs and aperitifs
this one smells like olives
and tastes like Christmas
they bought a former Catholic girls' school
multicolored pastel candy linoleum floor
dressed in a layer of sawdust
powdered sugar
they found an old invitation
to the school halloween party
typewritten inside the outline
of a witch on a broom
crumbly paper
pinned to wall



zoom out my friends can afford this?
how?
cigarettes inside



I make a documentary in my head
interviewing everyone at the party



Lucia tells me courting the rich people
for fundraising is fine
you just have to know their interests
make them feel cool



Nargiz says she thinks the revolution
is women being easier on themselves
and having confidence in their own minds



I ask Wai Ji what her dream job is
she doesn't know but after school she decided
being an artist wasn't something
she could do
figuring out what her narrative was
and making work about it
in that way



talks about her tech job
    UX
       10X
revenue
    my teams
the new owners 
  wanted us
   to grow revenue 
by 10% that made 
me very angry
  I told them look
that should be 
a company goal













*~`.
in my dream I know he's around
     in "The Bay" where I'm from
I drive by Lake Merritt as
    the sun is glinting sideways
into the steamy windows of
 my car, brown leather
it's a 1960s Mercedes or something
         I hear him reciting a poem
from far away, but for me
  like I'm in two places at once
sun just starting to tilt, Fairy Land sign
I light two lavender colored candles
   holding them in my left hand
against the steering wheel
     lighter in my right
wobbling wheel
   to help him find me
bewitch
  white yellow candle flame against
    beams in the windows
glinting off the lake














Saturday, November 30, 2019

highlighting 2


...what happens to the birds
in strong winds like these?
i saw them fly fast from a tree
really fast
the warm (hot) winds today
have blown my sourness
into another place
replaced it with a witchy pleasure
some kind of permission
i wouldn't be surprised
to find an unidentifiable animal
licking its hands in my room
i have already removed a spider
from the shower that curled
into the cup until freed
into the pile of lumber
outside the bathroom window

a meanness in the drama of
the fast, dappled light
i just feel motion


highlighting


...my 27th birthday is on tuesday
and tonight i'm fantasizing
about the afterlife
a dark church with candles
and torches
where your body is whatever
you want (clay!)

thinking of Anne


the spiral staircase
the inflatable classroom
my apple product
fixedness or think
itselfness
fixed against my will
fixed against my
wild potential for
change or inevitable
period
my height fixed
against the answers
on the top shelf
this to me is
damp
to me is time
somewhere before
time's pores

Meanwhile in Russia

Nargiz says to get on the subway
you have to ride an escalator so many stories down
into the earth
and she noticed
there are no advertisements anymore
lining the walls on the way down
closer and closer
to the earth’s core
because of the new campaign for
community health
and cigarettes aren’t displayed for sale
anywhere
they are in a metal cabinet with a big heavy door
you can’t impulse buy them
you have to ask a clerk for a key and
open the heavy door

Thursday, November 28, 2019

I’m Going Through Changes

mirrors everywhere
in the Ethiopian restaurant/bar
dim blue haze light
sleepy hookah and top 40 rap in the back
karaoke and hipsters in the front

against a mirrored wall
we talk about the “Green New Deal
is not your friend” idea
half-measures towards dismantling
a system where the US holds the keys
to all kingdoms
Vera from Mexico
brings up an article she read about
an experimental clinic trading healthcare for art
I ask
how would the world over change 
if the US valued music and art
as much as business and military
her cheeks get hot, tone changes
everything the US exports is Fascism
pop music for a profit...withholding medical patents
...my classmates have oil paint but I have a stack of magazines
so I make collages... the US calls the shots for the world 
there is no sense of value in just existing
my brain is too drunk, I agree
I cry a tear for the confusion
she misunderstood my use of the word value?
the rage that I feel and am lumped into
I ask what she’s doing in the states
wasting my life and enjoying my time
I say good, excellent
I hope we’re not fighting cos I agree
are we the same or
noses getting redder
smoking in the cold backyard

L’s brother makes maps
one shows that the places that consume
the most energy and resources per person
have the most militarized borders
protecting that fortress of cushiness
a short team security
for the fucking of the future

how much worse does it have to get
“Science of Revolution”

radicalized middle class millenials

hiding in the massage chair
upstairs room everyone calls
the green room, minty walls
laundry everywhere
big tv with NFL on mute
reading poetry in the massage chair
if I indulge in the chair for too long
will it tenderize me?
Kobe beef
there’s a Costco jamón downstairs
after you’re done slicing
you’re supposed to lay the thick strips of fat
back on top of where you sliced to seal it up
dress the wound
the refs are the best part of sports
the stadium falls silent
spot light on the black and white striped shirt
everyone pays respect to the
new wave arm motions
the secret code language
booming reverb effect on his voice
as he announces the call



Focus Travel Inc.

NYC Chinatown is the best painting
how are you gna try to make art when
maybe how are you NOT gna try to make art when

there's the door at 83 Eldridge
faded checkerboard contact paper
two way mirroring like mercury

I reach around for the Mandarin words I know
The Privilege of the Access Class
of spying, of observing
how to observe responsibly

by everything i mean


forging a relationship with
my new cat we sit together
watching the flame flicker
on the attic ceiling
she even makes her eyes
slits while I lean back
on the bed
for the clouds
parading

eyes landing on
migrating birds
you know

when you're a kid
your dad's arms
span the bench like
batwings
his gloved hands and
now California alone

i say its nice out when shits
canceled or
the balloons are horizontal
is not everything clearly
solemn, the pedestal

the sun came out on my last sprint
the first HBCU band to play
ppl say that's great mom says
check your calendars
don't forget the rainbow on that drive
or how the shadows of the blowing leaves
stay on the ground
in the moment of sun
i say it's nice

god is poetry again
for the third time this week
and it's only Thursday







Tuesday, November 26, 2019

Tuesday morning

feel inappropriate wearing my brother's sweatpants in the graveyard 
but I’ve been coming here my whole life
the dead-end of my old street 
the blue house with the actual well 

Monday, November 25, 2019

look within beauty and power


   ✿
  ✿

  ✿

 

getting my birth chart read left me torn
somewhere between accepting a job offer
and evaporating into air

daydream a metaphor for my chart
like
a sparkly party
big watery eyes
red lighting tinkly glasses
but also a babushka
sweeping up
between the guests 
smoothing the bedsheets
making hospital corners then
crying in front of everyone?
it's a stretch

play guitar all afternoon at home
the sun aligns with the tree so fast
filtering through fall leaves
firey orange filling the living room
my sun may be in cancer but it's in tree right now
go outside before it sets
walk through the cemetery gates
mysterious curvature of the cemetery
a surreal bubble
surrounded by city yet floating above
runners and gravestones silhouetted against the orange sky
I walk fast out of the gates before nightfall
flash of what F said about feeling eyes
looking out of the mausoleums' tiny windows


Twitch 1er



when you think of your name so hard
it starts to hop away
or crumble
and you’re left with
a cutout thing 

the top of your head
an untied dog

on the 27th
when everything feels
relatively screwed in
i talk to Livia
under the gray sky

make lunch all day

with the same two fingers
i type something
devastating
i'll never learn 
sliding around

like a piano

with the same fingers
the clouds

to be someone's first dog
to be brought home 


Sunday, November 24, 2019

tasket

my mind changes like a ball rolling 
a stone picking up dirt
my head the hand or the basket 

raining

I share a birthday with Hemingway and Robin Williams
how annoying is that
not a threat just an emo observation

also the T.Rex album Slider came out on the same day in 1972
and when I'm sad
I sliiiiide

Saturday, November 23, 2019

LeafBlowerOnLaptop

speculating that the guys in the kitchen are all older
than the owner of the restaurant
and they’re all his dads like
instead of having kids, he has dads

Friday, November 22, 2019

fruits of labor


Do you want to be loved?
We all need to go to egodeath bootcamp

In my mind I ask my new friend questions constantly
Do you think a truly socialist/communist society would be like a colony of ants or bees?
Do we want to be like a colony of ants?
Rigid, indistinct, but elegant, cohesive, cooperative

Think about how we see bees
We admire their lack of ego
Their communal efforts, what they produce and pollinate
Industrial agriculture is killing them and we lament their extinction

People are scared of uniformity but admire it in the animal kingdom
Because our ideas of freedom are tied to ownership?
Because we wish we could be so selfless?
Where does the letting go start and does it ever end?

I know I am misunderstanding the concepts
but I try

Wednesday, September 25, 2019

pickles and rice


at a big nature place
rainwater big trees
caught in weather

somewhere I'd been
vetted

a bathtub located
near the common
spaces

we
watched a sort of
PSA

a worried,
glowing face
in the tub

she said
she was nominated
and then forgotten

came to somber
but soft

with rich brain like
marinated

Saturday, September 14, 2019

2727



going to sleep
elevated against
wide open window
in cool shape of moonlight

woke up feeling this way

woke up and it's beautiful
a headache
music still
moonlight still

could someone else feel this
this triangular spiral of gratitude 
the room where you walk 
a while to the bed

defining feelings:
bubbles
cut on pinky
churning

late-night dinner with a friend
getting stoned in another city
the night as a character 
like the bedframe is doing my hair
in a low bun
that's how integrated 
that's how crossfaded

I contemplate the tap water
she says he'll torture me
my skin does
baking soda and 
castor oil
healing clay

in the day I stick my feet out
the same window
into the BLUE sky
...



Wednesday, August 28, 2019

All My Relations



in the morning the cat does the thing
like the cop car on the freeway
snaking across lanes and 
I’m the cars behind her

In the morning you should
ask the day what it needs

when peoples poems
just list the evils

notes from the other 
side of the fence
but

it’s Sunday

I won’t start talking shit yet

in the morning my mom
goes to church
in New Jersey

in the morning 
I think of moss
the undercommons
the universitas
it’s not about me
my dad’s marrying
someone from Atlantic City

when I recognize some
girl I go I fucking
know that bitch

all my relations is
such a treat
like a flat spiral
sucker all the moss
sisters

when I recognize 
someone I should be more 
like robin the gentle
botanist 

think of the morning
of your life
it’s probably over
it’s a sucker

someone said
whatever you thought you were gonna be when you grow up
is fake
we watch double dare 2000 on youtube
my camera is covered with tape
we are being watched by my neighbor
his overripe tomatoes

listing the evils
or 
actually feeling
someone inside you
is your heart like a library
or
a fruit out of season
my friend was scared of spiders in bananas
my friend found a crow feather in a bag of spinach
why is spinach in a bag
but really why is it in a box

its the type of lonely when
you’re doing a job in a white button down shirt
when you also have long 
nails and so many thoughts

lonely like a basement

when I recognize someone I go
mom
she’s the lonely, fearless woman
a manicured wanderer
an entire universe
she’s Tinka, Lucia and Loo-chia
she’s ageless grace
in original costume 
exposed veins
she’s a packing peanut
a vampire
a black jack dealer

the lonely, fearless woman
ancountering men 
on the path
becoming a pair 
by space and time 
alone
an accident
she is quiet but
sturdy in her slides

it’s not about me
my second manifesto
second man I've 
seconds left to
the path I thought

the Payless 
he Popeyes
the path mark

secondly
don’t try to write about PMS
it’s the mug at my old hairstylist
a puffy cage
a root system

the city 
the genre
the show

I go I fucking know 
this town

the toxic 
the sexy 
the month

the baby
the eggs and
the dumplings

the night 
the heat and
the T

give advice but also
same
we all miss the morning
the candy

what to do  
with the desire to party

peanut butter cup rash
Veruca Salt
rolling

the wedding
the motives
are murky

the deed 
its done
the shooting

its urgent 
stop saying
its murky

paint it in
oil so it
never dries

would you rather 
sleep on this panel
or ask the day what it needs

remember
the root system
the radio

the core
if the heart
were a planet

what would the morning
have wanted

a year of eclipses
strung on a necklace

beads on the floor and
the pearls aren’t yours

we say we're not crushing
or fucking foundation
interconnection
remember we die

I remember trying to open to the door for the dog

words turn to stone so
go skip urgent in the river 
when you’re done with
the thing
saying urgent so many times
like we have more time
it's throwing the rocks
at our ears
murky motives
erosion
crumple the script 
like a cartoon

abolish this routine
abolish these condolences

we are all connected
and It's not an idea

who wants to lead
who wants to harness
who wants to churn
who wants to do it
we have food leftover
at the end of the night
who wants to get the bag
who is going to disperse 
who is going to invent a charger 
for whats dead

someone said 
what you thought you were gonna be when you grow up
doesn’t exist
who is going to sift

fuck mastery

the new job options are
inventor of recharger
recharger of what’s dead
composter of poison
the braider of dread
you can be the day asker
the morning burier
the night juicer
but
the woman in the white shirt
will be worshiped 

today my family is the shape of a vase
its not about me
the root system
the death of my cat
I can call my dad and
he will know
this might be the last time
he will understand
in this way, 
the bottom of the vase
a traffic jam

if another cat dies
it won’t have ever been his
he will only know the
death and not cat
the wide opening up top

Cucumber eats
rose petals like they’re chips
she loves fresh growth

the way an era
gets compressed
makes me Open the curtains
and take off my pants

posts of
quotes from
Anne Frank

the composter of poison 

the paper balls
in the bin

a poem 
finishing itself
in scraps
the spindly shreds
of collage, swept
into the trash

my translator said I have a few 
options for edge
edge like cliff, edge like
corner
edge like 
the far end of the room
or edge like
border 

Saturday, August 24, 2019

timelapse pinecone

in a flat fake world
we feed on the feed
we really keep
pressing the button
like lab rats

he just wants to collect charms
and hear them tinkle against each other
that sound is what he needs
it is tinny and cheap but we all need it

sun or dumb
phone or screen
touch or together
alone
timelapse
pinecone

Sunday, August 11, 2019

Loona






the waxing moon sits with us while
we eat our dinner on the balcony
when I look at her I think about
all my female friends, the ceramic dish
Celia made me a mini full moon
with finger marks as craters
I use it to burn candles and wishes
written on silver and gold leafed joss
paper listening to Goldie’s “Timeless”
album again it’s like a time lapse of the moon
rising in a movie, my partner’s discarded
contact lenses in the toilet bowl
a pair of shiny divots in the water
St. Lucia style presentation but floating
and bowl, not plate. carrying plates of eggs
Benedict at my new job, dreaming new job
dreams at night, rolling along smoothly
superstitiously






Fantasia Violas

I water the plant
and the flowers face the sun again

Friday, August 2, 2019

oh dirty


when I recognize
some girl I go
I fucking know that bitch

all these earthquakes
in my body
pulse on the front
of my hip

how am I not gonna remember
everything I did yesterday
but still wish I did more

remembering bikes at night
having one friend
lazy afternoon
hazy
cow sound

I know a place that's quiet
except for the daisies

craving new york
like a fucking donut
craving the gaze
jazz
a long symbol

but then
driving up the coast
my "blond" hair
blowing in my eye
my arm is just a piece
of me
and somehow I'm not
throwing my identity
against a wall
the classical music station
the ocean!
they said
anti-road rage

I literally hate the guy
who hovered on the shore
behind me
in my rust thong bikini
I saw his friends egg him on
he's preying on me
he's being a vulture
and there's no way
around

the warm warm
water the warm
cloudy evening
the shark sighting
care or

I've had these same
summer blues since
skaters
cigarettes
sunrise
and probably before

people drop off
care or
revel


Saturday, July 27, 2019

choose

Choose Writing vs Choose Reading

neighborhood this morning smelled like 
mowed lawns and goose poop
childhood Lake Merritt park smell 
the cork trees and the grass maze
feel the gritty sand of the playground
on the cement wall where you feed the birds
shoes on that texture, hands on that
the rotary nature center
dimly lit ever cool sanctuary 
the thrill of visiting the bees
with their little tunnel to outside
putting your ear to the humming plastic 

bus to NY again 
guided meditation for birthdays and renewal?
guided meditation for I just quit my job?
phone phone phone
song about community 
song about technology and magic
song about I will never know enough 
the beautiful marshlands of New Jersey 
song about an orange windsock
song about a rusty bridge 

mental block against whimsical writing 
in this precipice hurting world
buzzing like an indoor-outdoor bee
on Wednesday I rescued a bee 
from the hot sun gravel in the 
courtyard of the Rodin museum 
put him in the shade with a leaf

little top-heavy bus in the sky 
overpass above a leafy gorge
precipice indeed
to be a snail
to be a bee
to be a butterfly 
a pollinator practice 
grandpa calls on my birthday
and we talk about global warming 

he says 
service is what it’s all about 
grandpa as the Cal bear
he said he’d send me a video of the waterfall he built 
so I can watch it and meditate 
I asked if he did that sometimes 
he said
No, no... I don’t do that 










Wednesday, July 24, 2019

ephrodite


when desire is laid on you
like a hot stone
the heat could fade
but I ask it to stay

I want the fresh produce
the thunderstorm

but who am I
all of us
of course

did you know this, sign,
was going away?

I think of Going Away
it's childish,
sweet

I'm drinking wine this afternoon
but don't worry about me

when a crush is laid --

it's like that
you know a video
of a textural layer
being spread
but laid
two hands at
two corners

I still walk to
the sweet hole
in the concrete river
slanted and stained

the function of truth
in poetry

the trickle of green slime

that's not what it is!
(share this with the kids)

it's a little bit of sad water

I got some good
out of pizza
as I pass the rock labyrinth
I think its the opposite
I got free drinks
well,
earned

at the end of the day

I want to be entertained

to live for solitude
under the sun
but
how does one
end a night too hot
to sleep

too drunk to read
cold shower
texting
wisdom
all of it

sometimes
I wanna lay the fuck down
and submit
to another energy
some say movie
but
it's just
tediously sexy
to be this temp
this tan

an earthquake but
fully upside down
and we fall off the surface
don't come at me

in bed w/
the ice bandana



Thursday, July 18, 2019

Schemer 1


think of borrowing
honestly

it's not my house

the shiny toys
the soft cat
the hot night

have I lost something?

trouble
my friends
right here

cameras in the corners
capture naughty
broken glass and
just bad
behavior

the summer becomes
a bloody sheet
a four-corned
problem

removal
a bullfight
a somersault

the blood as
a sort of
downtown

a personalized
reparation
a shell

the clock
like soft
raindrops
all night
another time

if you're not helping
I don't care
about you

have I
lost something

the smoke alarm
the pink bench
are warm to me

so often

use pleasure
to sedate

I'm sweaty
in a fantasy

speechless
and bigger



Saturday, June 1, 2019

The Figure Of “The Child” In American Politics






“The always already white Child
is also always already
healthy and nondisabled;
disabled children are not part
of this privileged imaginary
except as the abject other.”
- Alison Kafer,
Feminist, Queer, Crip
(32-33)






realizing the compulsorily
able-bodied-ness
of wanting to "be the stair step"
better to be a ramp
and anyway
why is highness the object?
safety when the floods come

Walt Whitman in the air, buzz
springtime, his 200th birthday
museum events and fanfare
humanity, nature

I think
     Song of My Selfie
I surveil myself 
     and what I assume you shall assume

I see metal petals
the capital
behind everything
it is spring
it is glorious
 and I am
daisy chained
to my devices

we are out of time
vs.
we are outside of time

on my balcony
second story with a third story above
feels like a river boat
watching the thunder storm
watching for the floods
wave my hanky
as we leave the harbor










Monday, May 6, 2019

Caring

something about
how I am letting myself be cared for
and how 





it is too easy


do I take care of my big friends
like they take care of me?


am I the stairstep?

trippin



sketched out by my old feelings
popping up

like just be
quiet

unless you've got something big to say

make yourself 
scarce





don't embarrass me
Livia

mayday bread puppets garlic

walking dog
finding a melody
my fav voice is the kazoo
that sometimes happens
vibing in my head
Jardin Sous La Pluie
community garden
dump truck toy

we don't 
         want
      to be free
cuz 
fences 
 look 
          like 
jewelryyyyy

there's a park in my neighborhood
called Squirrel Hill Falls
it's got a tall iron fence
and rows of benches
facing a mural of a hyper realistic waterfall
trees all around it
it's convincing
to visit like a landmark
quiet and peaceful in there

I have no body
I'm just a head
like, suspended
plus hands and feet
like, a post on mega
with nothing in it just a title
at the top
and a
Posted by Bistro at 7:18 PM
at the bottom
how much can you delete?

the meaning of 
the moon and stars
is STOP
the bullshit

long shadows on the page of happy hour
song about sunburn

I like that the tap water
comes from the Schuylkill
I'm really becoming this place
it's hospitable
that I'm allowed
chlorinated river dirt chemical water
inside and outside of me


Wednesday, May 1, 2019

Lit by MK and Today


the edge of a thought
a new groove I remember
being beautiful
a tattoo
new spots stay scarring
in the sun it stays now
from May 1 -
yelling in the park
honking w the heart
music and power
to the ppl

when a poem just
floods you with certainty
a cover letter to cry on
I say I a lot
I want to defend poetry
it's depths and powers
a package of air that'll
blow your head off but
fits in the palm of your hand

flood you with consideration
thank you for it, for time

Wednesday Mega May Day
almost
a cherry
I see
six flags
your scrunchie
period
blood
the website
silver
it's spring
for short
a fly
the sun
it's 5
warm beer
hurt neck
again

need dessert
again
something wavy
so easy to say
sun all the time
sun kiss sun's
out sunshine
the comfort
of daylight
candy
does it work the same?
cake
friends
digestif
the menu
to write
to see
we taste
and feel
I think
I know
I do


Thursday, March 28, 2019

Celebrating Young People's Gender, Sexual Diversity and Self-Expression Pt 1



sitting in baggy clothes
refreshments behind me
something like a mermaid purse
of trauma materialized 
holding the black puddle of
of socialization 
an eyepatch

the terms start stirring
my mirror phase
my mom’s body
the chat rooms
some heinous checkpoints
of dismissing my 
healthy body 
with the solid mask
of function and
rocklike love

Thursday, March 21, 2019

also as well

I keep getting this
baby feeling
in my new apt
like, I am one






I like how in certain settings
“sugars” is a unit
how many sugars?
it cracks me up





I dreamt about quiet lanky H
who says “woooo”
who loves coffee, watches,
and puting beads in the fish tank
I dreamt that she was a vampire
and I woke up heartbroken





The Butterfly Is Implied

The Butterfly Is Implied

Jacob playing his set 
giant clam shell hands 
illuminated from below 
the space between each finger on the keyboard
is like the rippled edge of a shell
like Venus emerges from

between songs he gives a treatise on existing 
linking so many symbols
masks, larva (the butterfly is implied)

how we are nothing but each other 
I am what I have
and I think of
my hearts not in me, it’s where they all are
he also says
don’t shit talk on death, it’s the special sauce that makes everything taste delicious
and I feel so connected in that moment
so alive for a second

I can’t help how sentimental I am
am I foolish
for making the connections 
symbols and signs so comfortable and juicy
I used to draw mask after mask
and I was larva, of course

Green Wave is a song after Jamie’s Green Wave
I recently found the poem of his by the same name that must have been the basis for the song
its about surfing
he also compares himself to a spider in the ocean
in a way eerily similar 
to the way my Green Wave does

I can’t help it
the knot in my throat at those synchronicities
I resent being treated young and foolish 
by the practical people around me

it’s crazy that we are older now
than Jamie ever was
to be older than a big brother
death is the special sauce 

I worry about my knot throat ways
what if they could they tip 
into an illness
like my mom’s, like Jacob’s mom’s
I feel so abstract so often 
nothing behind my face

can’t grasp the physical enough 
to stay in
or hang out
I will never know enough 
about books or basketball 
flowers or history 
and I worry about the egoism of art

I want to be the heartbalm
I want to be the stairstep
I want to be all of them, out there
reflect beauty back at the world  
it’s all there and there’s nothing there

I want to be free
but I love how fences look, too
just moments, just glimmers, right?

the ocean in Santa Cruz
the butterflies in the trees
on the way to meet my sister’s baby
the sparkling arc 
a spiral continues

and I think of Jamie’s quote about how
deciding the world is too sad to bring children into 
just allows it to be so
and how we have to continue to believe
that we can live and laugh in the sun

and, anyway

the sun is the best artist 

July b storm/love letter




I want to be joined by her.

expensive velcro

walking up a grassy hill at dusk

up and down some grassy hills

to arrive at a twinkling vista

tidy and warm

marzipan layers master crafted

treats in convincing shapes

a coloring book

filled in with chimes



I want to linger against her 

most delicate bangers

simple and perfumey

by the way 

I weep at each bullet point


Do you like the way it feels to be asleep?


read her tracklist like a beauty supply

from the parallel universe 

studded with colder verbs

and elegant trappings

Things Just Die

so merrily but a dream

joke's on him, probably

</3




drooping spirals 


Thursday, March 14, 2019

Wednesday, March 6, 2019

gray vs zest







the shimmy light on buildings 
don't you hate when the turn signal 
jams a bit like you hurt it?
I drive bad and slow to take pics in this light
wind chimes, metal flowers, a weber grill chained to a fence

abruptly pull over to visit Colonial Iron Works
favorite storefront
a big display window (with its own weird victorian roof)
proudly baring a symmetrical presentation
of stair railings and a gate, painted white
a beautiful installation
I love it because it's like jewelry for buildings

there is a long driveway on the left side it turns out
bricks and dusted over warehouse windows
leading to a parking area and the entrance on the side
gravel and a fence in the back right up against the train tracks
there is a minivan parked there 
with four kids in it?
waiting for their ironworker dad to get off work?

no one at the front desk, dusty windows
all the high counters and walls are 1970s brown 
nothing hung up, no pictures or weird certificates
just shadows cast by the serifs, swirls and flowers

even though I logically know
it's impossible for me to remember
that after the garbage feeling 
comes another daisy moment

the spicy difference between 
gray and 
zest 
that I can't control
makes me believe in
brain chemistry
like today 
looking at a metal flower
is different than yesterday or tomorrow

but maybe it's not just me
the dogs at the park act differently
smiling, playing nicely, the conditions are right
I take my trip group to the contemporary art museum
and everyone is in the best mood
greeting Linda the security guard like an old friend
all three exhibitions are fucking beautiful
a rush, a wave


keep the daisy feeling
longer










































**** ******* & yet



after one therapy session
I was bored
and out
45 bones
so now I'm soaking up
the new student trials
of the new neighborhood
yogahaus vinyassa classe
packages there is
a sunglasses bitch
with several beverages
showing me her stomach
Me
what else was I thinking

adding a can of fish to
the vegan noodles
I will always choose
corner of any bed or
classroom any bite
should be a corner

* *** ***** **** *******
** * ********* ***
that night
aware of my patchy lipstick
and fresh pimples
singing for who
just dropping the mic
smirking drinking
grapefruit
the glow of my list,
hiding in it
life in my list
referencing it
to die in my diary
dear Livy...

catch me
splintering
from the gaggle
everyone's afflictions
blurring
and yet I text
and text
& yet & yet
it's mesh

it seemed to be
a whole thing
a puffy, simple
bubble moment
where he noticed me
and we talked
kept tabs
you cut your hair
where are you
gonna be tonight

easy, here

the woman trying
so hard
to chew with her mouth closed
or is it just in her blood
the make up
imagine food falling out
my heart breaks the same
falling down
simple steps
running out
of ways to say it
thumps

the ladies who
try to look better than
even the world
the background sucks
-- not nature, but
the suckerdom is major
and never fails to shock
my softcore system

the mountain is beautiful
kind of small
like a pocketbook

& basic system:

you live and then you die
so you might as well be happy
try to argue, ha
I cry

something I do, taking
something away from who I am?
never

the drawings
the pictures
the morning dew on my phone
revolting

I think again of this certain moment
before being awake
when thoughts are irrelevant
distant, passing clouds
tomorrow's weather

when traveling
when reeling

to wake up empty

imagine this poem
wilting
or finishing itself
in scraps
the spindly shreds
of collage, swept
into the trash

the border of a sticker sheet