Tuesday, June 28, 2022


 this mezcal manhattan and a mountain.

i mean,

a fountain.

i mean,

we aren't in danger now 

and we don't hold breaths here. 


every day.

equal parts waiting, 

equal parts killing it all.

i carry a faint scent in my pocket, once in while moving it to the back to pretend it's behind me. 

sometimes, it gets taken out,

mixed with water.

sometimes, it gets thrown off a cliff or smashed into the dirt or set on fire.

but it comes back,


and rude;

gentle but demanding to know the

other names, 

the ones I want to be written because i want to love them.

and i stay 

disassembling the letters of a special one because 





spaced in the space i don't have because the scent is getting fainter

and yes, i know. 

others have "U's" too.

Monday, June 20, 2022


Produced in 2020. Visual essay adaptation of Horacio Quiroga's 1920 short story, "Juan Darién". Special thanks to Castro-Winter Studios, Dusty Circuits, Franz Bühler, and Nando Rivas for making this project happen (in a pandemic).


somewhere between suicidal and just really tired. you know this place, don't you?

the word is taboo. but it's not about ending living's lease.  what if your body were origami and i could rearrange it how i pleased? an empty cupboard. so lite. so new. unordinary and full of what used to be you.

somewhere between novelty and nowhere. where, where...where you get everything you wanted and messages don't make it through. well, some do.  but others remain suspended in silence. intoned by guesses and closed down cells.  resounding in grocery store parking lots like some playful hell. 


would it feel nice to be capsized then reorganized?

to fall into the version where you question if it happened at all. because now it's so quiet and it's nowhere and I went home to a wife and a life that is better or broader or bent in the right direction. would you sit in the questions? pine for a goddamn lesson? 

would you even know what to do? 

Saturday, June 11, 2022


I’ll carve two lines in me if it means I won’t forget you

If it gives the tactile jog of who you are 


may be for me

One line for M

The other line for M

Running parallel and raised

Streaming sangre and the daze 

of making decisions

Never not there

Two lines

Running parallel

Etched into my thigh

Ones that touched 

then exploded

Broke and imploded rules and people and 

things that were made to protect 

Tuesday, November 3, 2020

6 yr stop

a thing gets stuck. 

frozen and numbed in nuance. 

until the big (ah)wareness to change. 
the sculpting clay of repetition was once rich and wet.

the caliche blew hard and the coyote moon ate up dreams. 
the sagging saguaro blew rain upside-down 
the old whistling was ground into gears of pace and ingenuity. 

until there were these eyes, 
i thought i knew the time. 

rotted in routine, 
now thawing,  
praying...still asking, 


Monday, September 28, 2020

palo verde

cactus & candles and a new place to live

yet another new place to live

how often one scoops

carries their own bag of bones

their stupid sack of flesh

their silly sinews

all arranged into a human

how often do i dig under my own feet to find where i begin 

then i begin

to trace the roots and tap the umbilical origin

of palo verde green and still observations

cool nature

the romance of this "desertness"

how perfect to be waiting here for him

always waiting on him

to come around