I: Down the mississippi I will go, past blushing steamboats and river banks and green mud, past algae pools, with turtles bobbing at the surface. I will march forth past crop circles, golden fields and everything worn down in Nebraska even the abandoned parks, nuclear mind fields, wastelands of pollution and industry (and don’t worry, there’s beauty too) like so many leaves I never knew there were so many oak trees that grew despite the steaming summer haze and the chomping ivy vines. I never knew the Southern forests were as thick as the Amazon.

Actias luna resides in the moss, an elated fairy, resting on hickory tree branches long enough to continue its periless flight.
I will carry myself, I will push through forest, prairie, city and not look back because
I won’t become a ghost in a foreign land. I won’t be there long enough to be remembered, or immortalized. I will not leave my metal plates or my stove behind because they can’t fit in a wagon I am
walking alone, not barefoot but I may as well be. I want to be in contact with the land, and I imagine

in this new land, we make do with what we have, and we are happy enough for the time being. we are comfortable in the waiting time.

A love poem is this ode, an explanation perhaps (to my mother) why I do not talk enough, why I stare out the dark windows as we peck at salmon, why all my words come out at once and too fast for my own tongue.

I have been imagining the open landscapes for a long time now, I have been picturing the Californian sky at night, I have been dreaming of Spanish moss and grape vines, I have been contemplating how blue, pink, and white clouds can exist in the same sky (maybe we can, too).

In this journey, this amalgamation of past and future, (as always), I’m brought back to the tide. Repetition, frothy salty cold repetition. Something not controlled by me, which I am not even a part of. The tide reminds me that we are not creatures of Earth; we are Earth’s creatures.

When I cross the border between land and sea, I will be free. I am a wanderer at heart, and will never stop moving or changing. This is the only promise I can give you, and you must cup it in your hands and keep it close to your heart, save it for a rainy day. We will all find our homes, one day.

Down by the river I lie alone. Folks wade on the banks,
Sifting for gold. Washing the aches from their brittle bones.
This land of the forgotten, has never felt so close to home.
Detached from the blood-oiled machine,
Not much to part with, but
Every footstep carries with it
An imprint of meaning. The current here
Flows away from greed. Deposits into a reservoir,
Of pure intentions and peace. Tucked away from the cracked city streets
That mirror the crying streaks of those bewitched by the banal belief
Of progress by any means. Power here,
Is a drink for the weak. The outstretched arms of willow trees,
Cradle this quaint town. The last bastion of human passion. Bereft of malevolence.
Indeed, the realms of Hell seem to have a slice of heaven left.

The somniferous mist
Soothes my erratic soul
With a gentle touch,
Like soft blue watercolors
On a radiant white canvas.

i miss the idea of you a little.
is that wrong to say?
i miss it when i could look at you and imagine what it would be like to make you laugh.
i miss memorizing your routes to class and pretending that we just happened to cross paths.
i'd smile at you without meaning to, trying to take my heart off of my sleeve.

i miss crushing on you a little.
the same way you miss breaking curfew.
but now we're all just so tired.

i just want you to kiss me and say it's okay. say it's okay that i miss my imaginary you. because i miss the real you more.

love,
grey eyes

she loved him
and he loved the way she loved him

There was a canvas lying on the floor,
his canvas was lying on the floor.

There was a canvas lying on the floor,
his canvas was covered in red,
painted by his blades.

There was a canvas lying on the floor,
his canvas was covered in blue,
painted by his fists.

There was a canvas lying on the floor,
his canvas was ruined, and overused.

He needed to get a new one,
since he loved painting so much.

He always had a smile on while painting his canvases.

none of my friends care about what I want to say
about what I have to say

now I'm overthinking
I don't want to be annoying

pushed away
or do I keep pulling

I'm kinda sick
but that doesn't matter

we don't ask eachother

are we doing okay
we're just standing around

waiting to see who makes the first sound


it kinda hurts

this is the best we can be

this is so so close


ask me what time I went to sleep


I saw you awake
hearing your favorite song

you're so cold
like Neptune

yes
no

I don't trust you
wish you were a little more honest

so
hopeless

you turn everything against you
when everyone is on your side

I can't lie
I wish I didn't have to keep you high

you paint me blue
my new favorite color

everything I do is for you
it's all for you everything I do

in rotation
so slow

you're so beautiful
so cool

all I want to be
hiding in darkness