Tag: poem


An empty socket where wisdom should be, the aftertaste of blood coursing through the mouth. I don’t miss solidity, I miss concrete.I don’t miss foundations, I miss building.I don’t miss you, I miss all of you. My back is wound up like suspended in motion. So much kineticism waiting to be unleashed, like an overfull […]


highway palette plank on plankto a distant star think of yellowdirt-runed dunes of carrot cakesand flowing in infinite hour-glasses off the side of a lonely planet some other side of thislonely galaxy what is the colourof your gratitude can you explainthe middle ground between greenand not-green and who knows what there is to do at […]


In every throat, an apple to be pared. The knives of our tongues are stillnot enough for this actof love making. Before the work is done, the sculpture is already waiting to be sold. As with the bark of treeswe mark that we lovewith something that can’t grow back. Everyroom is a cage of sky […]


Thoroughly wrung dry by this point I am out of anything interesting to say. I am reinventing meaning, less to makea statement but more to simply be. Be more of a person, and less of a poet, those wretched, godforsaken things. Wretches who write for the sake of Godwhile using their gods as placeholders. Place […]


Fear comes microscopic. A number on a page, two letters in a text. In the cells of our bodies there arewords waiting to never be said. Stress and fear are ways we reinterpret the fightor flight response againstthe desire of two outcomesto intersect on a line graph. Numbers, numbers, numbers,falling like rain on a house […]


a flat cap, a smushed shoe, the lawn cuttings left out orphaned and buzzcut bleeding steady, a brokendown car by the side of a cruise liner, a ship at the bottom of the sea,a cabin locked and floodingwith all of the world’s answers within it, like a child rubbing their stomach,a pot-bellied pig waiting to […]


if the sum of two narratives is equivalent to a single narrative then all stories are like books in that they fold into themselvesand a universe of text collapsing like a swan with a folded wingshot down from the errant pellet of a slingshot-bearing teenager whose hands are filled with the instinct for frenetic kineticism […]