God is a metaphor for the poetry of the universe. This sentence is all I’ve really written in the past week. Poetry in this sentence could be interchanged with music. I also wrote a bit in my documentation notebook after an article on supermassive black holes, but I stopped after making a forced hint at […]
I want to be a floating spirit, she says. What about last night, he says. Silence and bodies is everything she knows, so how do expect her to say the word? She pulls over to a screeching halt, turns off the AC cause this is the only time she’ll be able to break a sweat […]
The two greatest of human fears, and they are my two eyes. I see nothing but them, fluid and rocking as waves or a hammock above jellyfish waters. You are my best friend, you are my best friend, you are, too, and then he shoots them all dead because they are just mutts—worth nothing. They […]
And my napkins are usually scribbled all over because I always leave my notebook in the wrong place, like my brain, I feel like. This is from January, and I think something ate February and March… What do you think???
“I felt as though I’d been watching a bad comedy. Only it was real and I was living it and it was the only historically meaningful life that I could live.” – The Invisible Man Tell me which rockers to swallow because I’m a new person every day. I’ll swim until […]
2/3/16; a definition: Cars shed their sparkling exodermis through thermal energy when reaching a high velocity—the air becomes pixie dust, and the soil hibernates.
I wanted to call it “weird faces about birds,” but only because it sounded good. I had a late-night-poem up there and I remember it being absolutely fantastic and the only thing I can remember […]
I’m sitting in a candy-cane-scented pool of blood, reading of war, slaughters in unstuck time, so it goes. It is art, they both are, the words and the soaking. I’m painting my nails red, the mermaid swaying innocently in pinkish water, too far removed from the sirens who took seaman with their crusted, edged […]
1. I can still feel the stubble from my Papaw’s cheek on my lips. I can still feel your fingers in mine. Stillness, it exists, but only in our perceptions because the earth orbits the sun, and the cars keep rolling on, and our eyes must blink and our hearts must beat and the blood […]
1. the pink men make me feel safe, like the attractive man smoking cigarettes before a thirty-minute time to reflect, the past washing over me while I bond with my father. the planet earth is blue, and the only thing we can do is sing pretty little love songs and pretend we can turn salt […]