I pushed my heart through a screen door,
it landed in pieces on your new keyboard.
The switches got stuck with my blood and guts,
making it hard for you to say so long,
good luck.
But I was already rendered obsolete before you left the checkout line
at the upside-down best buy;
claiming rights to something you never intended to
take home for much longer than a night,
maybe i was a rental;
but didn't know it at the time.
Still leaking;
I walked slowly to the back of the store
and found a broken light-bulb there,
still flickering like the ghost of nintendo;
wondering to itself
why the coil wasn't connected,
I said, "Me too;
wouldn't you like to get out,
maybe go for a walk
to the discoteque?"
It said "Sure."
and then cut me with its electric-glazed,
doughnut-halo,
broken xbox controller
stupor, pretending that it's alright
to play until 5am, with the lights
often broken themselves,
and we wouldn't ever tell ourselves to reset,
only to plug in.
May 13
May 13, 2026 at 9:09 PM UTC
it looks almost superstitious
watching the way she washes dishes
carefully placing the plates to the side
as she finishes them
and i
must in turn
with grace in reciprocal
embrace dutifully tend to
my place
as i take the terry cloth rag
we bought on our first date
it was more elegant then
embroidered edges prevented fraying
now well worn from years
of playing against the ever-present
superstitious
and ultimate fate we always dreaded
but here we are
and i
wiping the terry cloth rag
against a frail white
dinner plate
i see the cracks in that too
still holding together
in spite of
years of misuse
and we
realize we don't wonder
why if someone held us
up against the bulb
light wouldn't bleed through our cracks
my gumdrop
May 12
May 12, 2026 at 10:17 AM UTC
the body of water i appreciate most
is the stream of consciousness;
drop me in yours, set me afloat,
tell me about a dream you had,
one that took place among the mountains;
make me feel the stone cold shadows,
make me live right inside of it.
or the time you saw a rowboat,
how the blue cracked paint
looked soft and peeling
against the relentless lakeshore.
make me smell it with your words.
the soft pine in the wind,
singing along with hotter breaths of air.
make me walk to the park;
meander along the path,
and off towards a bench
with initials carved in it,
messily scribbled by decades of schoolkids,
living love stories around the same time of year.
autumn's leaves;
gold brown and clear,
the ones that turned to dust elegantly,
crushed beneath the feet of the passerby.
make me laugh,
make me cry,
do it with rhyme,
i don't care;
but do it honestly,
please,
not with a fake personality;
the wolf-smile wide,
eyes black inside,
cold and alone,
only pleading with clicks to buy.
putting yourself
out on the screen,
i know everyone can be so mean,
uncouth,
and honestly a little judge-y,
that it almost doesn't make sense,
to look through the window
seeing if the light will shine back in.
but if the light you have shines through,
well then it's worth it
on its own,
to see the cracks hidden in everyone's shadows.
now get out there, kid, go write a poem.
May 11
May 11, 2026 at 7:30 AM UTC
The saddest things are tucked away
inside the crevices of our brain,
and no matter what we do
they can never truly escape;
even though we've developed
so many ways that try to convey,
express,
relay,
radiate,
exculpate and transmit
feelings locked inside our cabinet,
regarding our ultimate discontent
with the state of things;
hoping connection, or just
letting something out might bring
some form of release,
from the existential
and utter defeat
of facing reality's
crushing gravity;
the cascading sadness
falling around us
like so many
broken tin cans,
never understanding
why they were emptied
like, "What was the plan,
am I here for a reason
other than to feel pain?"
Kick me down the road again
until I feel the curb's soft-end
shove me back into the ground
and then,
maybe I'll get the release
from grief I seek,
but it was still better
to get it out before
leaving, I think.
May 10
May 10, 2026 at 12:05 AM UTC
it felt so **** blasphemous;
the way she stared up at the sky,
the lights reflected back at us through her eyes,
was more beautiful than all creation
could've pretended,
and it's just our first date;
what elation.
a pantheon of spite couldn't hide her light inside,
no matter what they did;
beat her down,
broke her legs,
she'd crawl a mile just to get you fresh eggs;
and throughout all of it,
but a smile she would wear,
pulled up to her cheeks,
bathed in soft tufts of golden hair.
and to the gods above:
whichever may have been responsible
to allow me the intangible pleasure
of helping her casually tumble,
through life the same way
as her smile,
never fades,
or the light she carries,
and refuses to let others bury,
seems to sparkle against the everlasting glades,
on which my heart stays afloat,
i didn't even have to pray.
not really anyway, except for that one time between 22 and 35.
she holds my hand,
walking ahead,
keeps me grounded
on earth instead,
keeping my ideals out of the sky,
please, gods let me keep her,
you know why;
looking upon her every day,
and knowing her in every way,
you lot are so lucky,
because instead,
i only see her in glimpses;
the way rose petals falling mock her hip-swing,
the way her smile makes my delicate bones weak,
the way she's leading me
to heaven;
one that you lot can't lock away,
one i surely hope to keep.
May 9
May 9, 2026 at 11:50 AM UTC
a poet asked a poem what poetry was,
the poem looked at the poet sideways;
the same way rays of light bend
around a glass of water.
somewhat curiously,
but with magnified intensity.
the poet felt like a jar of eternities
passed by before speaking again.
the poem blinked, sighed,
and eventually squawked back,
"I don't know, but you wrote me,
and that fills me with meaning.
If that's not poetry, I don't know
what is."
May 9
May 9, 2026 at 10:26 AM UTC
ballistic souls' puffy eyes
monitor happy, broken hands;
knuckles blown apart, totaled,
fingers twisted, elated radiance.
sunshine allowed old wounds
peeling, crisp skin from june,
bleeding dermis begging god:
pleas returned love, renewed.
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 11:09 PM UTC
Honeypots, Oceans and Blazing Tsunamis,
these are the names for my ex-partners, count three,
I'm 38;
that means roughly one every decade,
since I was 18.
Honeypots, she was a stargazer;
took me to the ballpark
and brought along tomatoes,
to hurl at that one ump
she liked to heckle so much;
after the ballgame was done
she thought the backseat was fun,
too bad it was that of a cop car.
Oceans, she was a lovely ditch of selflessness;
took her parents hatchback to the racetrack
and then basically totalled it,
when asked why,
she'd point to the wind and cry,
"I hope what I set afloat,
finds a home with somebody."
And Blazing Tsunamis,
oh my, what a body;
standing in the checkout line at target
you'd never know she'd steal your carpet,
light it on fire,
put it out in the toilet;
when confronting her about why she soiled it,
she'd laugh,
"I don't know what you think, but it's more
fun rolling around bare-assed on a hardwood floor."
What's wrong with them
or is it me?
I don't know, who's to say?
Either way,
It's been a long, fun, hard life,
and I wouldn't change a thing,
except for maybe the part
where they ganged-up on me
like a ******* hurricane
in the parking lot of Macy's;
burned me down,
spilled my drink;
made me drive into that tree.
So you see,
your honor,
that's why I'm here today.
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 10:30 PM UTC
My bed looks so small,
Or maybe it's me,
It's cold but feels invitingly warm,
Sitting made so carefully,
All for me,
To slide between the sheets,
Pull the fluffy, heavy duvet overhead, sliding beneath
And feel the tingles of relaxation release,
I crawl into a tiny ball,
Feeling the bed float away with me.
Apr 12
Apr 12, 2026 at 3:28 PM UTC
Why are you dressed so nicely at the grocery store?
It's an adorable dress, nevertheless
And your hair looks cute as well
But you still seem so small
In the middle of it all
The bustling world around you
Apr 12
Apr 12, 2026 at 3:25 PM UTC