Friday, July 12, 2013


a woman and her daughter were sharing a small bathroom stall in the public restroom in the grocery store.
i was in the larger one next to them.

the little girl said "mommy, when i touch buddy's tummy i can feel her claws."

the mother responded, "are her claws out when you touch her tummy?"

"no," said the girl.

the mother, confused, suggested, "those are just her nipples."

the little girl, frustrated, insisted "no...", and the mother said "do you mean that while you touch her tummy you also touch her paws?"

"YES," the little girl said, so relieved to be understood finally, so unaware that a stranger was six feet away, enjoying her frustration while relating thoroughly.

Tuesday, February 26, 2013


unmade bed seems more like a symbol than a bed,
due to it being in the very center of the room.
and then combined with the fact that
you’re missing your self from it,
and i have all this space where you will no longer
conduct your bodyhood.

when I walk into the room,
it calls out to me even more so than usual,
but calling out as a symbol, and not a bed.
what it calls out as a symbol of, I can’t be sure.
but it demands to be taken very symbolically, and it smells
like you, some variety of gone, some illusions
and some beautiful ones.

the time you said “no one eats pussy in heaven”
and I frowned.
you woke me up sniffling incessantly into the back of my head,
I said “you should blow your nose.”
“too sleepy,” you said.
“you should really blow your nose."
“I don’t think so,” you said.
“I’m in bed with the sniffle super villain,” I said,
and then you licked my armpit.

absolutely nothing needs to make sense in the bed,
and furthermore nothing should.
I see now that the bed is a symbol of being endlessly enthused
about not making sense,
about pouring water on you for no reason and laughing for almost every reason
after I've maliciously accused you of pissing in my bed,

about defiantly refusing to let reason inform anything in us.
we most triumphantly "[stuck] it to the man" when i was suffocating you
with my pillow and you pretended to die,
but my happiness when you sprung back to life was extremely real.

you said I left a hand print in the snow bank of your heart;
I peered at you and wrote it down,

Thursday, November 1, 2012


hi friends
this is just a note to say that novel premise is going on hiatus while i work seriously on my first book of poems, which i hope to finish this winter.

much love to all of you

Sunday, October 21, 2012


today my feelings ride me,
a big tired elephant in the circus of
the heavy things
doing the languid ballet in my brain, around you

one time you made me cry
because your kindness surpassed
whatever threshold I had established,
and another time you said
"one day, one day" and
"I think about your pale skin and dark hair"

if I ever made you cry
maybe it was because
when we used the word “love”
we were summoning different chemical arrangements;

mine are down by the dried river, cupping their hands
in the ghost of the stream
as it twists snakelike
towards the rumor of an ocean
whose waves gossip your arrangement,

gossip Light while my pain sleeps in me
like a second skeleton
beneath my textbook one.

I feel feverish draped over it,
like I’d rather drape
over any other thing, but

ancient memory of my own mortality
blooms before it realizes itself, it
feels like half my tombstone
is in my stomach,

growing like one of those rubber toys in water.

sometimes it pauses,
reflects on its growth
and apologizes to me
and it fucks off
and I imagine whatever it is that you imagine for me
and I bask there:

"one day, one day."

I think there’s a meteor shower peaking tonight
above and between us
and I bask there, in the whole sky,
I bask across the things between us,
I leave my second skeleton behind

and in leaving it behind I discipline it, I make it
subordinate to the minutes that precede its waiting secret,
as I wade in the preceding minutes that lend me my history.

it looks on in silence so as to not offend the wading,
so as to not alert me to the inevitable death that is my chaperone,

and I can mistake the silence as sacredness or respect
if it obscures the skeleton lovingly.

and if it is lovingly then how can I be mistaken
and if I know love, it is in the retreat of that prescient chaperone

it is in the way we fall down the same set of stairs,
stopping intermittently to achieve something mutually distracting

it is in the way we revel in that which is mutual,
as if it betrays to the skeleton the loveliest thing of all:

we all die
riding the same horse

Saturday, September 8, 2012


i was doing what i do best: waiting for a customer to walk up. the music was unoffensive and frank sinatra. i saw something out of the corner of my eye, something tall, vertical, all pink, and the first thing that came to my mind was "woah, that person is in a vagina costume."

i turned my head and saw that it was a woman dressed in all pink, but otherwise bearing no real resemblance to a vagina. i felt palpable concern for my thought reflexes and then a man walked up and put a few items on the belt.

he was old and appeared sort of glum. when i asked him how was doing he cleared his throat and said "okay" very faintly, like his throat was sick. i rang up his stuff and told him his total. he paused and looked at me, smiling unexpectedly. he said something to me that i couldn't understand because his voice was so quiet. it sounded like "how are you," but with the first syllable missing, so i said, "how am i?"

"are you," he said
"how am i?"
"are you"
"umm, i'm good thanks"
"no no, just are you, are you," and at that he lifted his palms outward to indicate that we seemed to be alive and in a grocery store

i thought "this is probably happening because i'm going to die soon," followed by more palpable concern for my thought reflexes and some unease at how confrontational the question seemed, at least in my immediate interpretation of it, which was admittedly laden with fear

i said "well, does it seem like i am?"

he smiled again and said "yes, it does. i wouldn't have asked you if i didn't think you were."

we exchanged money and i watched him walk slowly across the parking lot through the window, feeling some vague but warm thing that lingered into the evening