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camps May 2021
a breeze scatters the ashes from my cigarette
all over my legs and onto the ground
now they make tiny mountains of rubble
along with burning villages where it's lights out
before their inhabitants could even think
of worshipping the sun

parting lovers never have much to say
but i think i'll write their names somewhere
and forge my signature on a love letter meant
for an ocean that is inexhaustibly rocking
while cursing the moon for always pushing it away
when it's just trying to fill her craters

the spoils of history go towards making
impermanent things permanent on things
impermanent like the arms of those unknown
and like my backpack swallowing pens
maybe it wouldn't happen if we stopped
romanticizing the ink

my body falls in pieces from the heavens while
you're on earth mingling with the best of them
and it's not until halfway through a cosmopolitan
that you realize you forgot to catch me and
now the ants on the ground are getting stuck
on a love that could have been

have you ever noticed the shape of hearts
gives them a symmetry that makes them
capable of being folded and neatly tucked away
out of all the people you've met in your life
how many of them would you reach in your pocket
and unfold one for

if there's a reason i've melted it's because
my cigarette tastes an awful lot like you
new version of an older poem

from my book anywhere but here
camps May 2021
going outside nowadays is just a game of
who can hold their breath the longest and of
looking for reasons to pass the time in your
own backyard but the gardens i see are only for
the literary muses haunting writers into submission
and for digging up holes with plastic shovels and
for wishing that i could pick up the daisies
and place them in your hair

i was in the middle of drawing a circle when
my arm quivered and now the line shoots
way past the paper and it's currently
undulating over my desk and zooming past
a caterpillar that's contemplating whether the
process of becoming beautiful would actually
make him beautiful when he already knows
that he is beautiful

i hope the god i pray to forgives me for
making all the lines i write be about you
this poem makes me picture a certain someone
title inspired by a certain somewhere

from my new book anywhere but here
  Feb 2021 camps
gabby
last week, a black car
appeared out of nowhere
while i was riding my bike
on a busy street.
the headlights burnt my eyes
and my fingers clung to
the handle bar.

i think i died once then.
i passed the initiation.
now, it is time to risk.

this thing with two wheels
is everything i own.
New York is 200 miles away.
i am going to ride the bike
that once brought me to death
to the most golden
point.
camps Aug 2018
lightning may never strike twice in the same place
but i hope you do

right where you make me feel alive
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