Monday, September 16, 2019

not scary

kissed someone with your nose
and after all these years
the shape of it


gets in between my glue
and elongates the space
makes present some emptiness
some physical erasure
of cells and tissue

me: the aesthete
the other: amalgamation of resistance, beauty, and
the patterned way I dysfunction

just the profile and present moment
color/ jaws/ soft hairs/ tiny mountain

arching in rigid genetics
taking up face
the way a nose does

shoring up tsunamis
through simple breath of being
floods me back to wandering and existing

in Hawaii/ San Francisco/ Oakland/ Wisconsin
to party drugs and some
little succulents in the big window of our 2
bedroom flat

the one near the beach
to life had, had, and had
to noodles and rain
to a single regret
to leaving him for paradise
to finding my real name

confounding and funny
how much lives in a body
when another body feels it
ain’t nothing more real

Monday, August 26, 2019


mezcal from a paper cup
in a place 
i don’t know 
orange rose up 

complicated nights 
but only in my head 
a spread out landscape 
and too many details 

pueblo eyes are very good at remembering 
the stars 
take notes
the ground 
the mountains made of mud

Wednesday, August 21, 2019

side door

the light is coming undone 
the wind blows hard and hot 
an archetype
a temptation 
a floatation 
and I’m preparing to watch the rest

this other person’s story
the click of light
the burn of sun

the getting over of someone
the getting under them too

the finding space in the social 
the parameter 
wiggling the dagger 
finding the millimeter 
of humanness

to pierce 

and the wind is still hot while it belies the answer of a stupid big question 
can I come in now?
use the side door? 

Monday, May 13, 2019


forging strange statements at uncomfortable hours
the typical time for drunken poetics

the purity of this kind of poverty
this kind of integrity
this kind of nuisance

destroying a texture
diseasing a mind
worrying out worm holes
crushing chasms

there are woolen patches where flesh was
they work their way to a core
they make their way through arterial passages
into a more profound and pounded kind of pavement
the stiff seriousness of a stone that keeps peeling back like onions

Wednesday, April 17, 2019

dull knives

there aren't many "no's"
        and who the hell knows the best way to share a heart.

how to explore the ugly ridges that line the drawers
        the crumbs accumulated
        the residue of too many spilt drinks
        late nights
        a burn or two.

who's the guide? who has the power?
       at what hour do I bend on knee to consult the demigod
       the oracle
       the magician
       who stirs up primitive and necessary chaos as a harbinger of healing.

no one knows
     they're flailing too.
     they've moved homes
     are moving within the Self.

they're scraping back old wallpaper
     using dull knives


Wednesday, April 10, 2019


bury my face in the desert
the rigid push back of denim.
black and born of Jupiter.
in it I find the smell of home
unlikely, unexpected.

the sweet lips of conspiracy
meet easily and are a part
as I feel my ribs in four dimensions.
as I find my thighs in the thickness.
strokes of internal grabbing
the raw scratch against my back.

a tawdry tarantula lives in my bloodtype.
strong and misleading
a truthful bitch
who pushes me off planets
and teases
frequently suggesting that I don't know how.

the firming age of a saguaro
sneaks into my vulnerable ground.

what a tiny root, an immature possibility.
what comes of this wildness?

some new found embodiment or a life?
lessons all the while the creosote is knocking at my nostrils.
inducing, attracting fear-laced allergic reactions.

buried under too much is a small light.
here is rounded out a den.
here sleeps a stone that once beat blood.
here, an opening.
here, this is
here, what is.

Thursday, April 4, 2019


clarified by fire
such a precise prism
pointing to purpose and unforgiving realism

like lightning
smashing the ground
smacking its womenfolk into change

a collective war call
of all the women hurt by men
of all the minds drawn into madness and mindlessness

there's a burgundy burping
a stewing slurp, a velvet thing

a heart
strung up like yesterday's laundry