And when we reach that state
where ******* leave us reeling,
we simply let ourselves
be carried along
by the inertia
of our bodies.
I in you,
or you in me
in a constant rhythm,
a drowsy stupor,
a sweet unease
for dawn is fast approaching.
You close my eyelids with your fingers
and tell me that soon we must continue our journey.
Smiling,
I take your hand in mine,
kiss your wrist,
and remind you:
this
right here, right now
this is the journey.
May 15
May 15, 2026 at 8:58 PM UTC
I raced to the summit
to get close to the dome
and it was a mirror
lined with serpents
on flowers
that I could have put there
myself
but didn’t
because I was busy
putting everything else:
the evening chair,
next to the scratchy needle,
the bumpy cuts,
the warm hiss
of a well worn life.
Oh!
And the handshake
of sheer
*******
will power.
And the mirror
showed me a face
eventually.
Mar 28
Mar 28, 2026 at 3:57 AM UTC
With impenetrable skin
and spongy knuckles
I grab onto the wheel
and the red lights ahead
wiggle their *****
and all the tongues
roll out,
(Every inch of pavement
is sacred.)
impede traffic,
as husky torsos turn
red
yellow
Green Beetle!
Punch.
Invincibly,
I cry when the music stops
and I hit repeat
and repeat
and nothing ever moves
forward
Mar 27
Mar 27, 2026 at 1:14 PM UTC
When I walked,
the city purred under me.
(It showed me things)
I’m turning my back
on a certain aesthetic
where the houses
stand
at right angles
in shades of black and white
and straight aluminum.
A look that colonized my thoughts
with youthful promises of
Bohemia.
I’m a traitor.
So I seek twirly things.
And when the city towers,
I curl.
And when the city rages,
I moan.
So the dance ensues
with me, lusting over rust
over seagull ****
over peeling whispers
and earthy hues,
and with her
purring,
in heat
Mar 23
Mar 23, 2026 at 4:28 PM UTC
I tried the warnings.
Wrote them on the walls.
Shouted them from the passing trains,
my voice drowned by
crushed metal
and bent powder.
A spine from the 1960s,
which called us to the table
to feast on
rotten horses
abandoned by the side of the road,
did it too
after the headlines broke
in a cloud of dust
and the parents of the world
bought color TVs
to watch the radio.
Our children too will get new screens.
Because nobody reads walls.
- I should have known this:
Graffiti is now mural.
Thinking accrues interest
in offshore accounts.
And we pay our debts
with crispy skin
and building dust from our faces.
So I don’t shout from moving fortresses
anymore.
Instead,
I do minor gardening on Saturdays
and spend a good chunk of Sunday
digging out
invisible splinters
from my fingers.
Mar 22
Mar 22, 2026 at 4:25 PM UTC
I’m turning slowly
into a toothless entity
a subtraction
unmissed from the scene
of the hangout
the happening
the synergetic ebb and flow
of whatever the ****
I’m not tucking my t-shirt
yet
but I always wear a belt
and my shoes are always tied
and my pants fit
put together
they say
as in
not falling apart
with anachronistic
references to
dried up flowers
or wrinkled Sunday morning cartoons
tied tight with a string
around the waist
but what I really am
is bursting at the seams
with impulse
and hormones
of inexperience
The righteous fire for everything
raging
but my hair is combed
and I don’t snap
I don’t bite
and I don’t smash everything with a bat
like
ever
so they’re opening a space
in a drawer
or a shelf
where they can place me
alphabetically
and find me
if they ever need to
Mar 20
Mar 20, 2026 at 8:03 PM UTC
I think I’ll write some lines
about something big.
Death
maybe,
or ***
which is often the same
thing,
then I’ll compress the
thing
into something tangible
something local
like a pub
or
a bookstore with
one of those
nose pierced baristas
who looks at you funny
and does the lip bite
thing
or the hair flick
thing
as they ask you to tap the
thing
in the
thing
so they can never see you again
until next time
Sure
thing!
And then,
the collapse
into the vapid:
The dynasty of horrors
that drips with the birthdays
and the tough love,
the headboard games,
all the way
to the atom.
And then
…
Mar 18
Mar 18, 2026 at 11:28 PM UTC
One by one
your shields must fall:
your stardust
your galaxy clusters
your asteroid belts
******* Jupiter
your satellites
your thin layer of air
your domes
your passport
your border
your architrave
your culture
your name
your decorum
your ancestry
(and finally)
your clothes
around your ankles, naked
your skin
your pretense
your ego
and your gripping
the edge.
And then,
you.
Mar 18
Mar 18, 2026 at 4:56 AM UTC
Kink Kong
is a dude
who hangs out near
the Castro.
He walks around
carrying an umbrella
(I’ve never seen it open)
and a swagger
that carries him back
in a kind of Hermes way.
The homeless dislike him
because he has no
acceptable pockets.
The owners
don’t approve of him
as much as tolerate
him sitting in their
peeled benches
wearing
only
a black leather
jockstrap.
The patrons
are
elsewhere
from him.
But not really.
Kink Kong
is alright.
He is not a giant
ape
though some
think of him
as a bear.
Mar 17
Mar 17, 2026 at 1:47 AM UTC
You can’t beat us with kindness
you can’t outrun the rumble
or the light in the tunnel
you can’t pretend to be
a sad muppet
reveling
in his blue period
You can’t
sublimate yourself
with yellow,
shameless balloons
swelling
with carbon monoxide
or stomach butterflies
You can’t.
And when you try,
you are bound to write
your lonely account.
Evangelize
from your POV
and hope that someone else
is looking over your shoulder
hands over your wrist,
dot over your
I
and a soft cane
to beat you
into darkness
Mar 14
Mar 14, 2026 at 4:11 PM UTC