I have no fear of artificial intelligence—only a fear of loneliness, because I've TASTED it, and my mind is hungry.
Monotony is the spinach in my teeth, the aquantaince I grin at, the spinach still lodged inside my itchy gums. It is as beautiful as the breath in winter, ice on tongues, and cough syrup. You are the needle, the transfusion, the plain vanilla yogurt. I am the toothbrush, the shower, the bran flakes. Let [...]
**BAD POETRY** You think you've got cool salsa, spicy and rich. Mines ugly and trying to be paleo to lose some weight and remember Jesus, and it gets anxious in cities and really all the time, but cities are where the poets are at, the academics and COOL PEOPLE that make me sick, so I [...]
you must be free, but you must not be passionate you must share only you're broken daydreams—you're proud pursuits will tear down the distraught citizens, namely, all of us to be of this generation, you must speak loudly with only a whisper as Elijah but not as bare-nothing David, dancing you must be willing to [...]
After "Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver, activity from Pangea World Theater at VISTA conference You do not have to be the fake dirt—corroded and rusty—the crack of the broken desert sun, dry and thirsty. You do not have to hold back salty tears, afraid of the rain for lack of the O zone, the trash [...]
Torn between space there lies a literature of spoken word, movement, and liquid. Here crawls figures on a sphere so wide, the light is always on, whether it be in reflection or pride. There are noble ones and fearful ones and all are pitiful for longing. He snaps a cracker in two, and out comes [...]
When a lake's edge catches fire, you put it out; when a field does, you wait for rain. The way water works itself into the world of living things forces itself into the highest position of power. His wooden stick, a prayer, or maybe a staff given by Moses himself, brought thirst away from [...]
I want the wind to be my breath. I see "rejoice;" I say "reject." I truly believe my joy, hope, and love comes from that verb. How do I proclaim that? I don't know how. I barely know how to live as Isho-animate through blood-shot eyes, broken windows of shattered feet. By lyrics, not finality, [...]
tug and tug and tug for more, rusty arms, bloody sores. Calloused thumbs, clogged hearts. A beautiful site to see. torn limbs, blistered feet. hollow eyes, devil seas. Elbow grease for a sculptured furrow, stretch marks of divine bone marrow. Beauty, sorrow, offering—it's all the same to me.
It came from the fear of abyss, the excess of hoards, toadstools of desolate tyranny, choking— the comments, scrolling, we ingest the arsenic, pain-killers of reversal, fiddling with twigs of fire—the sweltering squeal of life. We belong to the sparrows, and they to us. The lilies, our sisters, and yet, we are so fearful of [...]