I want to fly out of myself
And soar and dive
And forget I was ever born
I want to be borne aloft
By heat and wind and rain
And the scent
Of a lilac-laced evening
In spring
I want to fly out of myself
And away
Far away
From
you
Jun 2, 2020
Jun 2, 2020 at 9:11 PM UTC
Gardening involves killing
Worms
Many of them
Think
Before you dig
Are the roses
Worth
The guilt?
May 9, 2020
May 9, 2020 at 2:51 PM UTC
I was nine years old
I looked at my body
In the bathroom mirror
And crumbled to the floor
And cried
And thought
(Seriously this is what I literally told myself)
I’m falling apart
Preteen drama queen
One day I’ll peel myself off
Of that floor
I hope
May 9, 2020
May 9, 2020 at 11:31 AM UTC
The world is burning
And drowning
And trying very hard
To get rid of the infestation
We have become
And all I can think of doing
Is writing poetry or jerking off
Which I think you’ll agree
Are basically the same thing
May 4, 2020
May 4, 2020 at 9:37 PM UTC
Apparently now
If you end a text message with a period
It means you’re ****** off
Because who needs a period
When each of your utterances
Is circumscribed
By a thought bubble
At least that’s what I heard
On a podcast
(I’m an old)
So if I text you
And use punctuation
Will you take offense?
Will you be able to tell
My old-school emojis
From that punctuation?
I certainly hope so :-/
May 4, 2020
May 4, 2020 at 1:53 PM UTC
Grackles
Pecking at the lawn.
Pulling out terrified worms
Grass
Still wet from spring
Showers. Bright emerald green
Green
Sunlight hitting the blades
Just right. Backyard lushness
Grief
Already grieving for the
End of summer. Why?
May 4, 2020
May 4, 2020 at 12:07 AM UTC
I’m trying to write
Something
Something
That’s not about :
- me
- me
- me; or
- dread
I’m failing
Miserably
May 3, 2020
May 3, 2020 at 11:02 PM UTC
Broken
Broken
Broke
My back is broken
It pulls the air
Out of my lungs and
Silences
My song
May 3, 2020
May 3, 2020 at 5:25 PM UTC
My hands do things I’m not aware of
They hide my keys
In the pockets
Of freshly laundered pants
Behind
Under
Inside many
Many
Pieces of furniture
Dangling from my bicycle lock
(For 3 hours)
Hanging from the front door lock
(All day long)
By a flower growing
In the crack
Of a sidewalk
That I had knelt down
To examine
In the fridge
Yeah
I know
My hands lock my keys up
In the backyard shed
In the trunk of a car
In a car’s ignition
With the motor running
No joke
And of course
Inside my house
While I am
Outside my house
One day my hands
Unbeknownst to me
Will lock all of the doors
And throw all of the keys
Away
May 1, 2020
May 1, 2020 at 11:39 AM UTC