I’ve grown with little—
primarily attention
until it withered.
An identity dependent
on trends and demographic—
trading vulnerabilities for
Hollywood escapism.
The brighter the light,
the longer the shadow.
Within circle aflame,
reaching towards memory.
Saint Fluoxetine,
deliver me forward.
Allow me happiness.
Reveal to me my foibles
so that I can admire.
Jul 27, 2020
Jul 27, 2020 at 1:55 PM UTC
French vanilla Converse,
taupe-boxed flannel (too big),
and an American Spirit burning,
real, real slow. What a hipster ****
what a culture-eating parasite.
He says, 'Read Proust with me.'
He says something about how
his dad is dead but not in
a literal sense; metaphorically.
I was never interested in that part
in the avant-garde spoken poetry Friday nights.
I bust into the bathroom
and ***** grasping
Bed Bath and Beyond clearance items.
The walls are the same shade
of green as my skin.
A hand pets my thigh and I'm told
it'll all be okay.
How those knuckles knew,
I'll never know.
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 7:52 PM UTC
She is attached to the couch
like a swollen tomatoe;
glued to the TV, supine and subservient.
Texting while while writing a generic fantasy novel, with the
televison serving as an audio fireplace,
she believes she'll be famous despite
lacking concentration, respect, and will.
O, call to the daycares; a baby is loose --
neck fastened by an electronic noose.
America come and receive thy child;
harbor a body sheltered from the wild;
And how could you expect such
sofa fungus to survive? Well,
first, to save someone else, they
must be alive.
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 12:48 PM UTC
Your prayers and thoughts
are not sufficient.
Tweeting and posting self-indulgent
bullshit; you are shallow
and your not-so-subtle
political agenda sickens me.
The President said we should unite,
despite a year of trying to divide us.
Although, he doesn't need to say much
because all we've ever masturbated to
is one country for all...
except for people we don't like.
I am caught in a web where
each strand is a headline;
where every attempt to be free
pulls me deeper in; where
the spider is me and you
and you and me; where
I am eaten by myself.
I tell myself to not care
-- it never works.
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 12:48 PM UTC
The yuppies are by the
Cotto Café, asking those
not to call them hipsters.
An auburn feminist drinks
Mexican blend, black, while
reading Margaret Atwood.
I gave up smoking, I say,
about a month ago.
No one really listens, which
I sometimes find comforting.
After I walk my isolation off,
I stumble into a Taco Bell;
one of those hybrids: this time
KFC. The cashier is curly in the
way that broken legs are curly.
Her eyes are green but I dare
not objectify her, I hope I don't
say out loud, because I fear
nothing more than being
patronizing.
Construction loudly stutters
and cars squeak and shush.
On this griddle of a sidewalk,
I feel alone. Vehicles vroom
while I stand silent, a monument
to my generation.
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 1:43 PM UTC
The cluster of ice in my glass
looks like a milky fist.
I shake my cup and ask
about the weather.
He says, 'Hasn't rained in
one thousand or so years.'
I say how that's unfortunate;
he says how **** happens.
This party transitions into
something out of an art-house film;
the Cali-tens are dancing to some
80's song you would vaguely recognize.
They bump into one another
like bees in an electric hive.
A Russian drinking a Russian
asks about drugs.
I say into my drink that I
don't have that many friends.
Looking for a bathroom,
I am bumped by hips and lips
into the former eggshell/cigarette stain wall,
where I find my partial reflection
looking back at me in that familiar
transparent parent way.
I find myself apologizing.
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 1:42 PM UTC
Bottle of Tums on the end-table
surrounded by an imprisoned fan;
a lava lamp of antacids, cornered by dead precious-metal presidents.
Some greying ceramic **** matriarch
has a bulb sprouting out of her head,
radiating fat yellow on the olive corner, also onto the loveseat.
I say, I should read.
I say, People don't like
one another, anymore.
She says, I want to be a doctor.
Work with animals, she said,
Help pets and people.
Days go by like the shush
following blurs of traffic.
Am I aging too soon;
Am I important enough
to care.
Try to sell me some
Pyramid Scheme ****
the man my age does--
the kid--
He wants sixty-five for
off-brand perfume. No way.
How about, he looks around,
the manager's discount: twenty.
I say no. I'm sorry. I can't help you.
He says no. He's sorry. He can't help himself.
An American filmography:
A Thief in Brooklyn, 1997,
Dirk Diggler Productions,
A 20 y/o man breaks into
apartments, stealing pills
from the elder renters.
Ghost Before Sundown, 2003,
Marythrone Image,
A woman suspects she is
a ghost and tries to come to
terms with never succeeding
in life.
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 8:32 PM UTC
Be the reason I don't drink;
the oil in the lamp, car, pores.
Help me realize rock-bottom
in your backseat; two lovers
in a car on a cliff, watching
the dark brown sugar shores.
I gave up smoking like
it was my child. I couldn't
hold what was killing me,
no matter how smooth, mild.
And I can't hold this baby;
this burden bruising my bladder.
I told my father I wanted an abortion,
he said, "In this country,
your choice does not matter."
Be my reason, Pre-born;
not yet breathing; not yet
crying; not yet teething;
not yet amorous; not yet alone;
not yet loveless; not yet a stone
sinking far, sinking deep
in an ocean of heavy sleep
where you ignore my decision;
my ****** tells; my existence;
where your father is God
and erases all frowns; where
his presence suggests that he
created your hair, your smile,
your sounds; Where he is
responsible for the oil in
your lamp, car, pores; where
my only purpose was in a car
overlooking sugar brown shores.
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 5:44 PM UTC
Conservatives cannot admit
that the White Nationalists were wrong
"But what about Black Lives Matter.
But what about the Alt-Left.
But what about what Fox News said.
But what about what our ******* cartoon of a president said."
Think for yourself.
You are feeling bad for Neo-Nazis.
They killed people.
They have a history of killing people.
They would **** everyone that isn't white.
This country has become disgusting.
A large portion is defending the actions of terrorists.
White Nationalists, ISIS--
They are, literally, the same.
You cannot be peaceful
when it comes to Nazis.
By sympathizing with them,
you are condoning them and creating more.
The only good **** is a dead ****
Be a ******* person,
think for yourself,
recognize true evil
when you see it,
you brainwashed *****
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 1:00 PM UTC
X's dim bedroom featured two tones: olive skin and rind of lime. Like her walls, her sheets and comforter clashed. The contrast in color reminded me of 80's clothing.
In her room, X smoked cigarettes that tasted like a mechanic's finger. A clunky radio played 24/7.
"Do your parents know you smoke in here?" I said.
"What?" She said.
Her parents were phantoms. She barely knew them, which makes me barely able to describe them. A week ago, I asked what they looked like. She shrugged and said she'd check the side of a milk carton.
*** was the only thing that connected us. We took turns touching each other like we were being dared to run our finger through an open flame. I said I loved her. She said not to be silly.
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 12:59 PM UTC