poems
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Right where it belongs the half-fucked pop schizophrenic forestman plucks a book off the branches of a library-tree and plops it down on the mud. In the clearing where all the words stop hooting a line forms to spit into the face of God. See the safety of the life that he has escaped, this…
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People streaming out of classrooms, people never looking back on nature, people crowding about in smoking corners, people typing fervently on their laptops, people with their earphones plugged in and the music so loud they don’t hear their own keys, people who lie, people who live by power points, people who die by caffeine, people…
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It is a miracle for people to love each other, in spite of the fact that people are people. We are so minute and small in this ocean of want. How we part like clouds nobody watches.Is there beauty in what’s unknown?I’m sitting at a cafe, alone, watching filled-out city buses run to death. Heads…
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Glad to see that my piece, ‘Odes to Odes to Love’ is published this month in Mistake House. Check it out here: http://mistakehouse.org/article/ode-to-odes-to-love/
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Glad to say that my piece, ‘Ars Poetica as Nested Memory’, has been published in Cathexis Northwest Press. You can check it out here: https://www.cathexisnorthwestpress.com/ars-poetica-as-nested-memory/ https://www.cathexisnorthwestpress.com/may-19-valen-lim
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If two sameselves make a paradox, then so is my birth;one roll of the die with infinite sides.I oscillate between possibilitieslike a speck of dustcaught in vision. A child of coincidence, one branch of Yggdrasil, born to yearn for fruit. I’d like to reconfirm my own existence, ensure that I was some other unknown in…
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Time lies, useless as a swordin the lake. For one, there’s time,and then, there is passage, as income, squeeze the cheeks of this little tragedy. Who will offerthe world their breast? I’m sat, couched deep in tomorrow,hands on the pulse. Tomorrow I willflip onto the pavement and pound itInto confession. Tomorrow I will flip on…
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The taste of dish soap lingerson the rim of the teacup. You and I sit at crossroads, legsdangling over cliffs. This isan exercise in communicationby proxy, messages hiddenin the fold of an arm. Coltrane murmurs in the background likea roommate, and the televisionis switched off. This is timeless,this is the way we freeze-frame our lives,…
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Blog time: I have this thing where I’ve always been struggling to think of people who have influenced my writing. Being more a writer than a reader when I started, I guess I didn’t have proper influence during my ‘formative years’ as a writer. While later on, I did find plenty of poets who…
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outside it is pouring,dark spilling over the sidewalklike a glass filled with the blood of something fragile.you and I are somewherein this flood of warmth. the rain continues to knockon the roof, a witnessto all of this nothing.time drips slow. quiet.you and I will part so soon.
ugly stage 