behold my predilection

staring into the middle space beneath the hygienist's hand

too tired to care if plaque water will make my neck smell bad

my sunglasses are motocross or construction

the right shape but shit production

Dr. Stinch seems down

so am I b/c I need a thousand-dollar crown

goddamn the sag and the wear

these softening lines, this fading hair

was i a god to me?

where was i gonna get to?

everything i wanted is here with me

behold, my predilection

thank dog

my dog she spins and spins and spins and okay that's, wait one, two more spins, that's the spot

gives me a little lick, thank you for the kiss

she dreams big dreams, running running running running where to?

i'll meet you there

 

hears the door, ears perk and head tilts 

she's a spring, she's a blanket, she's full of joy

i cry i cry she cries too 

king puppy, thank dog for gods 

I bought a tattoo gun 
on my 24th birthday 
in time for
a party,
which doubled as a going away,
where I wanted everyone
to get a tattoo
to remember me by
      (the casual ego of youth!)
a zip code
a spiral triangle
   both on ankles 
three v-shaped birds
   on a thigh
a boiled down platitude
   on my own feet
of course the night devolved
towards the end
my chicken scratch 
sprawled and spindly
       PMA 
on some guy’s pec
it’s for positive mental attitude 
he exclaimed again and again
the boundlessness of a rooftop
on a summer night
my brother got depressed at the thought
it can’t be mind over matter 
all the time
I do wonder
where is that barrel chest
with my letters etched
lumbering off to now

JOIN ME

lighting a candle is the prayer

cooking is the prayer

microwaving tea is the prayer

the tip is the prayer

the text is the prayer

substack is the prayer

the to-do list is the prayer

putting on the radio is the prayer

spooning is the prayer

blowing out the candle is the prayer

I'm saying a prayer now

are you?

2hrs and 15mins I won't get back

You can't establish 
the experience of myth 
in the future
without myth
and you can't backtrack to the myth
when you ask the editor to
jump cut the slight shift
of a gaze, a pupil blowing up,
one trickle of sweat,
denaturing the players
arranged before me -
you can't ask for my context
when you won't serve yours.

Non-realism predates paper
and the cutting room floor,
you can't ask god to
shower us with gold coins
if this miracle of yours
has no metaphor -

so instead picture us

on the edge of our seats:
you've got 20 minutes to set this one up,
stopwatch says go
let the remaining 115 ride the coattail.
It's never easy, especially now, 
I think, to expect miracles,
so, just, let it rip,
go.

The Difference

the difference between a cliff and a bluff

is carefully explained to me

over the rhythm of twigs 

snapping underfoot — something do with steepness

moss clings to the bark, nearly neon

eyes focus and tune to

the far away layers of ferns and trunks

open slowly, like a pop up book

retrievers and collies run rings around 

the children invincible in their galoshes 

layered up locals scan the coast

piously in silence 

 

 a crystalline structure: fragile and treacherous,  

 an empty fridge with archival condiments. 

elephant in the room, therapist on zoom. 

so much mystique, so many omnipresent strangers

vaguely invested in the I-me, a loose team of sorts

for the general* well-being, 

universal affirmation: a clammy high five. 

Beneath a Texas Moon

Night sweats chest pain labored breathing

I heard a sound like human screaming

Wolves howling for blood on an open glacier

And chainsaws dismembering sorority sisters

Beneath a Texas Moon