Tuesday, July 26, 2016

see, the thing is that i 
have never written a poem so early, 
see, the thing is that
you seem an awful lot like the Birch tree
i found in the backyard, the one that started
this whole
"getting better"

Saturday, July 23, 2016

i wrap my finger around the fish hook and
tug, i am using the puppet strings
to tie myself to the bed. 
slip into your silo, fuck up
the grain piles. grind
nails down on your sand belt, arch
yourself over the coaster, weld the dreams
shut. dribble honey over a name
and swallow.

mother says
there will be berries that are rotten and you will not know
until you touch them with your mouth.
they think that the softness makes me weak,
the scars a martyr,
but i was killed 
and did not die.
a violently resilient thing;
do not underestimate this. 

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

since the Doctor,
i have trouble sleeping.
each second of closed eyes, acutely aware
of the oxygen deprivation, june blanket smothering,
gasping, acutely 
aware of some 
curling black paper science experiment in which
i have no safety googles.
lift brow, expose iris, whisper
breathe, breathe,
see, see.

since the Doctor,
i have trouble sleeping, 
i am not done yet, 
i'm not ready for it

Saturday, July 16, 2016


all i'm saying is that if there were a 
nuclear reactor leak
somewhere in Nebraska 
it would look like a packed trunk, like a ringing in your ears, 
like bad news in a Doctor's office: 
ignorable and
not my fucking problem.

i test this theory underwater, 
salt the earth, 
write mean metaphors: your eyelashes are spider legs
your love is worth 27.99, the exact cost of a new set
of dishes.
if Nebraska were a color
i still wouldn't paint it-
let's test this theory underwater.