not in any particular order
Poem from the week I was really grumpy
I’m lying in bed and I thought of the word skink
I think it’s an animal
Or a fish
But maybe it’s a tool
I could see a carpenter needing a skink
To tighten a metal thing
Skink it up good, make sure it doesn’t move
If it does,
The structural integrity goes right to shit
No, its definitely an animal
I can’t keep screaming in my car like this
Hurts the throat
So I’d like to kindly ask for less rejection
You know, for my throat.
Where was I?
Oh yeah, it’s a reptile
Thank god it’s nothing like a skunk
There can only be one sheriff or whatever
Trying to experience something sublime after applying to teaching jobs
I’ve seen infinity
moonlight brighter than a flashlight
held tight in the hand
glowing through the thins of your fingers
The tide made outlines of mountains on the beach
Will I ever get tenure?
Poem for when the words aren’t coming
everyone is describing these grand
as if they just are
as if they just always knew
and I wonder how I can make my words that sticky
my thoughts that magnetic
feelings that vacuum seal
to make sure they attach themselves to notions in the big way
that seems to
tumble out of everyone else
I always feel too loose and watery
nothing stays still long enough to form a film
I’ve never known friction
I understand so clearly how you understand
how your words squeeze a feeling
snapping in alignment
to the tune of 75 beats per minute
when I try to snap I glint and glide
it’s all fresh ice
For one single second, the whiny babies at the “freedom” rally had me reconsidering the definition of “freedom,” on the off chance that they were right (they were not) and it was actually “the government” inhibiting me and not my usual suspects, “my own brain” and “men”.
true freedom is going for a walk
and suddenly realizing that
when Chris angerly asked what you were doing
when you were 16 and trying to grind with him at a dance party
it wasn’t because you were such a bad dancer that even with the loud music and ass-to-crotch-contact it still wasn’t entirely clear what you were attempting to do with your body,
it was simply because you were already flirting with most of his friends
and had a boyfriend in another city.
My solar plexus chakra needs some work but my throat has been pried wide open and I can practically hear the wild flowers chanting as they hug their petals to their stems, emanating sweet offerings to everyone who deigns to shine some light in the direction of it’s all connected and perhaps nothing could be sweeter OH!—and yet,
I know god isn’t real because I’ve never finished
a bottle of shampoo and
a bottle of conditioner
at the same time
not even close.
Where’s the ladder?
Where’d I leave that damn ladder?
There are really only a few places
Something so tall might hide
Here or there, I guess.
How do I get out of my own damn way?
And become more than the thousands of mes trying to become some version of me
Clearly I’m the only real obstacle
Well, me and the ladder
the thing I need to get out
is not here.
I don’t have the disease that makes
you want to melt into celebrity and
all its forms but
don’t get me wrong, I want to be famous
and melt that way
but I’ve never seen the current crop of famouses
as particularly meltable
I don’t need to be part of that soup
I can guess what it tastes like
I don’t have that disease
Martha Stewart’s gross food picture era had me worried for a sec
Because suddenly I felt myself in the disgusting lumps of
truffle mashed potatoes or whatever she eats.
It was me I saw in that oily looking niçoise salad
I’m the disconcerting puddle forming beneath her steak
I’m full of potential, trying too hard to burst through subpar execution
I’m a delicious meal, stuck behind the fence of septuagenarian technological shortcomings
For a minute there, I really became Martha Stewart’s gross food pictures
Melting like the butter that was delicately drizzled over
an expensive looking mound.
Becoming whatever the fuck
She froze in place with her god-awful flash prison
to relish in obscurity
Obscurity of course, being what she calls
her basket house.
We only snuck onto the golf course once
but it really felt like something we’d be doing all the time
like something we’d already been doing all the time
like it made a lot of sense for us to steal your parents’ sangria
walk across town
and sneak onto a golf course at 10pm on a Wednesday
we planned a party there for everyone, eventually
in the meantime, we’d only bring a select few
later, someone found a human skull there
well, a dog found a human skull
and a human found that
we couldn’t contain ourselves on the phone
a murder happened in our spot!
Our spot was defiled, left for dead!
and not for nothing but, someone had the audacity to figure out our spot!
even though we only went there once
all the plans that would never happen would now, against all odds, never happen.
the possibilities eclipsed the experience holy
ISO song recs
What is sitting on my chest and why is it shaped like
a deep sea
musical instrument. a sharp twang and a rough twitch
or however they make ‘em down there.
Nobody knows really
I only like music that sounds like a spooky carnival anyway
the kind with aesthetic hay but also
a very large costume budget and glitz. lots and lots of the stuff
and of course the actors are all fucking
not well, mind you
Sorry for the digression. i just heard a song and thought
maybe it’s this on my chest, something from this world and not whatever that was
squishing my tits into my lungs
all in all too much gravity and not enough twang twang for it to be so foreign
you can see now how it all makes sense
the fact that I’m in the deep sea and can’t sing at all.
In the future everyone will be talking about how
one time, in 2021
No Name changed the texture of their 1% cottage cheese
from good to great.
How could we forget the time something didn’t get worse?
Simply put, we won’t. And in the future everyone will discuss toppings
Has your preference for savoury or sweet changed with the texture?
Did you think you’d have to pay those Nordica premiums forever?
We were so naïve.
The light at the end of the tunnel is No Name 1% Cottage Cheese.
We just don’t know it yet.
Everyone I’ve ever dated has insisted that I play settlers of catan with them and their friends and so I did and not one of the people I’ve ever dated invited me to play again after that first time, even though, in all cases, we continued to date for more than a year.
Trying is the most embarrassing thing in the world according to tv shows from 20 years ago that employed the infamous cool/loser dichotomy and waxed poetic on what it really means to “own this school”.
Unless you also learn how to role your eyes and then trip on something obvious, only to succeed in the remaining 8 minutes, trying is the most embarrassing thing in the world.
Look: all I’m asking is if it is Hillary Duff’s fault that I live in fear of someone saying “good for you” if they see me struggle to bike up a hill?
All I’m asking is if it is Hillary Duff’s fault that I ask for help before knowing if I need help and then get mad at whoever is trying to help me for thinking that I need help?
All I’m asking is if it is Hillary Duff’s fault that my hair is dry and sometimes you get to a point in a sudoku where you just have to start guessing?
Seriously: Is it Hillary Duff’s fault that I’m guessing?
Is it Hillary Duff’s fault that I bought crystals once and then continued to buy crystals once and now no longer care about all my crystals?
Is it Hillary Duff’s fault that I feel like I could probably deduce what’s involved in “repotting your plants” but I don’t really know what’s involved?
Is it Hillary duffs fault that most days I wake up and wonder if today will be the day I get IBS?
Is it Hillary Duff’s fault that most days I exert real effort trying to touch as many soft things as possible but no soft thing could ever live up to that one type of moss I got to step on with bare feet in a place that was otherwise bad?
Is it Hillary Duff’s fault that I am physically allergic to cats, but I am the opposite of allergic to cats emotionally?
Is the fact that I only realized I had cellulite after my friend took pictures of my ass and put them online Hillary Duff’s fault? Would I have more Instagram followers if it wasn’t for Hillary duff? Did Hillary Duff move everything far away just so artists could attempt in vain to “collapse the distance” between this and that? Is Hillary Duff going to give me a speeding ticket?
Oh Hillary Duff we have sinned before you!
Hillary Duff in your abundant mercy, cleanse us of our guilt before you.
Hill, baby, please bring us back to you in perfect repentance.
Be gracious unto us and answer us although we have no merits of our own. Deal with us in righteousness and loving kindness,
and save us.
microscope prophylactic to ensure constant state of enchantment
The small flecks in soil
could be better
they could glisten, but the white
and the weirdly shaped
hold space in the dense
crumble but at the same time,
why white why fleck why not
a glisten so tantalizing it
soil says that’s what it’s all about, anyways.
opals exist to interrogate white and
make it feel not up to
snuff or a lesser evil.
could flecks become an opal vista
sprinkled loosely in the dense
as it slips through a human
separation we look down
to see the multicoloured dawn and
not for nothing but
future growth looms thick looms warm
looms weighty looms slick
small flecks could mean something
soil could glisten if not
for the dull
How do you curate? Isn’t it subjective?
I just have really good ideas so people pay me, if you can believe it.
weirdly, he could not.
He owns a building and so I could’ve done better at
making myself seem appealing.
Telling him one of my amazing ideas, instead of all of them, in general. He said
but isn’t it subjective ?
And I said
hold on let me think… It’s just that it’s hard for me to explain to someone with a building why I get paid to do anything,-,-,-
and he already started talking golf or something else but isn’t it all just golf, when you really think about it?
and I thought, ya it’s
better this way
God forbid someone agrees
Who would I be if someone agreed?
When talking to someone with a building it’s important to remember that establishing a secret code is a good way to get people interested in what you might say
Even if you don’t say much
even if you have "really good ideas".
They’ll respect the code because codes have master’s degrees. That’s what they teach you when you get a master’s degree, by the way.
And as the maker of the code,
The keeper of its secrets
You can open your mouth wide
And coat your throat with all that slippery respect
making it easy for a new code to spill out
I have so many mantras that it’s hard to think of anything else.
Deep breathing can be the most delicious food if you’re not really that hungry
Imagine being satisfied by beige
Imagine caring about a company
Imagine saying the right thing
Imagine being ok with how you look in a pencil skirt
Imagine holding your tongue in a meeting.
Imagine having rough enough fingers to hold your tongue at all.
A soft stop
like hair in the drain
puddling briefly until sludge
balled, suspended over
a sloping net
swooping and safe from
ascent or descent both mean away from here
until I shed and pause again
“See those 3 stars over there?”
Sometimes to procrastinate I check my work email to see if anyone has yelled at me today.
Even though I’ve never been yelled at.
Do people even yell anymore? Who “yells”?
I’ve pre-ordered a cake for the day I get yelled at.
It says, “it happened, finally!” And there are balloons. And then I’ll sleep the best sleep of my life because I’ll be full of cake and I’ll finally know who yells and at what.
Is there anything a straight man loves more than pointing out the big dipper?
At this point, does the big dipper even exist?
I suspect not.
Sometimes I dream of being a hot girl working at a mall kiosk
Sometimes I dream of buying stuff from a hot girl at a mall kiosk and then we go on an adventure together around the mall. Not worrying about the kiosk.
At this point, do mall kiosks with hot girls even exist?
I suspect not.
To dive into a bathtub of litebrite pegs
like sand under a magnifying glass
soft edges, rays of light
crunchy kernels that would get stuck under your gums
soft plinks as we swim
trying to find our place in the twice-ruptured picture
Sometimes I feel like I have to dye my hair blue for people to frequent my website
But little do they know I can eat a whole bag of masala chickpea snacks without water and my hair was once blue.
Well half my hair was blue but I didn’t have a website at the time.
I promise I’m spicy once you spend 1 month straight telling me what’s wrong with your relationships with other people.
My mouth burns and my hair is boring now and sometimes I feel like my inability to design anything well actually means I’m a good designer
But I feel annoyed at art about crying and house plants, which seem to be the apex of good design. Probably because if we have no where to spill water there’s a bloating problem.
Like the time I took a calcium pill and I read that it “may cause bloating” and then I felt bloated and got mad at calcium as a general concept for betraying me.
please visit my website.
everything is embarrassing
whats the deal with feeling like i talk bad
or with people who tell kids not to like dandelions
like so what you might get allergies
its not a reason to stomp away
unless they are the kind of allergies that make your throat close up
and your eyes puff out
then maybe leave quietly and drop a note on the floor that says something like
i cant stand being around you and ive always felt that way i just didn’t realize it until we got close
have you ever considered that the reason we hate those close up hotel mirrors is because we see what other people see when we breathe into their faces and think
shit maybe my breath smells
shit maybe i’ll never be able to zoom out again
eternally breathing up someones nose and dragging dirt into their tubes like a cigarette that’s filled with what I had for lunch and things you never wanted to hear
grilled chicken wrap on wheat and you’ve put on weight
i remember liking dandelions and i remember being told i was wrong
and i remember seeing dandelions spike up their hair every spring
just play it cool they cant know you're into them in that kind of way
11 Products for People Who Wish They Were Kittens or Puppies; This Quiz Will Reveal Which One You Are, And Then The 11 Products Will Follow.
I clear my mind and imagine butterfly wings shooting out of the hollow part under my shoulder blades.
Ripping my skin a definitive burst.
I clear my mind and imagine babies and how small they are.
They weren't that small until one day they were fucking small, randomly.
Everything is suddenly about bursting.
Everything that is supposed to matter rips my skin.
Everything that is supposed to matter comes from a hollow place and rips my skin.
When I can't sleep I imagine a fleshy little tag in the bottom right corner of my thumbnail.
I pull it and it comes off in a skinstring- stretchy and soft- and travels around my nails one by one and travels along the outline of my hand and up my arm after that.
There is a moat around each of my nails. There is a moat around most things, randomly.
I clear my mind and imagine the insides of things and what's waiting to come out.
I love recycling
My roommate made body scrub and put it in a little container labeled “mayonnaise” that I guess once contained mayonnaise but now contains body scrub and I love recycling but I don’t think it should come at the cost of reading the word mayonnaise in the shower. Every time I say something nice to a stranger they ignore me or respond in a way that upsets me. Every time the moment passes when I could have said something nice to a stranger but didn’t, I mourn the many ways my words could have changed both of our lives forever. Yesterday a stranger asked me a million personal questions, including what’s the biggest lesson you’ve learned and what does your brother do and do you disappoint your parents on a regular basis or only sometimes? And I tried to ignore it or respond in a way that would upset him later but not now, or simply just make it seem like I understand what my brother does, but in the end I was left mourning again. This time it was for the hour I spent trying to think of non-upsetting and yet non-exciting answers to questions from a man who could hypothetically lock all the doors when really all the honest answers are no and please excuse me while I think about the many ways I can clean myself of this conversation, including taking a shower and reading the word mayonnaise over and over and over again in a place where mayonnaise shouldn’t be because mayonnaise was invented to alleviate dryness so it seems we must try our absolute hardest to keep mayonnaise away from the already wet zones. I wish I could tell so many strangers that I like their nails and a similar thing happened to me last week but nothing more.
Letter to a cuttlefish
You have only one bone that looks like a big spoon
Or maybe a bowl
I’m really not sure how big you are
I have a whole bunch of bones.
Most are concave at the middle or the end
like a spoon or a bowl
Especially those butterfly pelvis bones that everyone’s got
Might be good for soup and salad
“I didn’t eat pickles for a year because it occurred to me that they are just mummified cucumbers and I was feeling dramatic”.
“that’s kind of like how I used to lie to people and say that I like to meditate in fabric stores when feeling dramatic”
even though fabric stores kind of stress me out.
Also, you love pickles.
high praise (love poem 1)
As we held each other in a small bed I smooshed my head into your neck chest
and you put your hand on my butt in a supportive way and we agreed that the worst thing
about pad thai
is that it inevitably ends.
keeping up (love poem 2)
You are the sun hitting my closed eyelids
a warmth that wraps what I’ve already wrapped
to make sure it stays
safe and softly humming
like a machine that we are not mad at
You are a full bag of scrabble tiles
Knocking gently at my fingertips
Spelling all the words right, without realizing
You are what holds my shoulders back
Adjusting my wayward spine to move with the wind
So we can glide, open
Adjusting to the small hills
That grow wider
You are the first purple flower
I’ve ever seen
brief meetings (love poem 3)
I wondered what it would be like to feel
your ball sack on the small of my back
I suspected it would feel a bit like when
you’re in a lake and a fish swims by your foot
or your foot touches a lake plant but you
think it’s a fish that swam by your foot
either works since everything in a lake is basically the same
just sort of small and mushy
I felt your balls gather on the base of my back
as the worlds most delicate massage
It didn’t really feel like anything from a lake in the end but
I will never meet the same fish or lake plant again after yanking my foot away from its touch
and in a similar way, your ball sack will never meet my low back again
unless of course
you sit on me.