When I march, I walk in circles. When I sing, I veer off key. When I sleep, I dream uneasy. When I drive, I speed
I always ask you, do you have everything? Because you always lose everything. You do not want children. I treat you like a child.
It’s always the shit writers that have some sort of meaningful connection to singer songwriter acts. Like, I don’t give a shit what Taylor Swift
When I see a notification on my computer, I am compelled to address it. What can be greater than fixing problems? Don’t you want
I. JUNE My sunflower bag, this June day on Carmel beach I fill with pink stones and will go on making a mosaic
On Zzyzx, I mourn myself in a monsoon while a friend formulates epistemologies of boyhood: from a point of youth, a crochet hook it
I would like to spend all my hours in all my days being a child with you.
Your hips are an orchard, where I put my lips, teeth, and tongue to the fruit that ripens with our heat.
One neighbor has come to me, swathed in her cloak and veil blue as the sea.
I lay, arms stretched in darkness, noon through the curtain call