little to no progress
has been made
& she’s craving all the things
she isn’t supposed to
crave

like a quart of rosato
& a bottle of
vicodin

she does not bless this mess
& her only resolution
is to **** it up
even more

what happened to
summer camp
& only caring about
jesus and
three lane super
slides?

she stole the last drop
of raspberry
& it stung her throat
turned her lips to flames

yet
it was still so sweet

how can there be such an
air of serenity in
this place
when in her heart there
is nothing but
turmoil?

only three pills to last
the weekend
& she doesn’t want
any of them

but they’re the only
substitute
for life at this
moment


she is low
again


a dangerous, dangerous
kind of low

take this contraband
as a form of her
enchantment

she has given so much
more away than
that of what you could
never prove

injustice is all she eats
with her coffee
& you stopped waiting to see
if you still needed to
shut the door

you don’t need to be
a recollection
when she can be your most
treasured mistake


& they all seem to make those
in your honor,
don’t they?

they got her dreams upstairs
in time
for an honest redecoration

& she never felt
just how lonely the
day would be
until she saw the
definition

now she’s filling
voids
& taking names
for granted in her brutal
anticipation for
warmth;


on a cool summer’s
breath


they all saw this coming,
but the dosage was
incorrect

so they burn and they burn
while she sails
& fails once more to
connect


to a cool summer’s
breath

been another while;
suppose it was about time
I came back to the inevitable
keyboard turnstile

to the blank space that awaits
the usually worthless
words tumbling out
of this head


& ray liotta is dead


spent a week with my oregon lover
sans one kidney these days
happiest we’ve been
in months;
but the stride back to
reality we must
obey

we both lost our jobs
& an *****,
we’ve scars to prove
the fact

but he lucked out with no
utilities, no rent
& I’m left with those and
three stressed out
cats

& the kids are leaving the
upstairs flat

it’s hard to have hope in this
capitalist world
where the gas prices soar
& the billionaires hoard

it's hard to see a good future
when I’m
an unstable *** bore

the love and the storms
are what keep me
going
when all else seems
so tremendously bleak

& I pray lady luck lends
down her warm
embrace

to give us the life that we
desperately seek


but ****, was it a good *******
week

the drugs wore off;
the tears came and they
won't stop
& I have to hold my stomach in
or it sears in pain with
every sob


what apt timing to be
left in the dust

what apt timing for you to
do what you believe
you must


never thought I'd have
to search for
how much ativan and norcos
I can take before I'm
on the floor

but here we are
& here I am

as you stare at that beautiful ocean


& I try to keep these
stitches from bleeding into
my hands.

I could make up some aesthetic intro
about how the rain is falling
& how the air tastes
but they’ve read it all at least
a thousand times,
at least.

it’s “spring” in Kansas and it’s rainy
& cold as **** for May
not much poetic about it unless
you’re like Shirley Manson
I guess
storms used to terrify me but
now I adore them;
transient and full of intensity
& beautifully


unpredictable


I haven’t really tried to write in so long
I had to force myself to pry open
the dusty laptop --
only because I knew I’d be too impatient
putting thoughts with pen
onto paper

I get why Buk relied on his typewriter
I just wish I had his mental fortitude to write
through complete writer’s block
at the edge of my
wit’s end

the world has not improved, as we kind of
all suspected
the supreme court is dipping their toes
into overturning roe. vs. wade

& all in the midst of the worst inflation
I’ve ever seen
(and a formula shortage)
it’s all a stage and we’ve all been
the puppets for years

but the fourth wall is coming down,
albeit slowly.



I wonder what he would have had to say about it.

enough, I’m sure.

most people worry when the
lump hits their
throat


I'm the one who feels
the knot in her
chest first

'cause it's all I can do
before things get
much worse

& the waves just keep crashing
in the devil's churn of
this ******
curse


you've blended in with
the woods again
& I still don't know the
next time I'll get
to touch your
skin


but what a beautiful sin
to wait for


the airport is quiet in the back
of concourse e
& I still see your face
as you said
goodbye to me


the edibles and mimosas
could never be as
sweet


so I'll hide the taste beneath
my tongue

until yet again
we meet




tá mé i ngrá leat