Sometimes I walk the ground
in just socks.
So all my socks are made of dirt.

I let brambles scratch
warrior plants attack
It won't detach me from my thirst
for community, unity, passion,
compassion swells.

The rain is welcome here.
It washes me
dripping
clean I am
blossoms realizing themselves.

My oils are pungent.

Sometimes my sisters give me a rash.
I kind of like it.

Sturdy hands
Green-blue thumbs
spur my growth

Bugs like to crawl into my mouth
when I am hungry.

The river takes my pain downstream.
It sheds glass
as I shed.

And you
gleaming from afar
Your silky grace
sips my spine
licks up my mind
and spins me into
timeless lifeforms
awaiting
          the lightning.


Sometimes.

a kiss
one day I'll be nothing
the best days of my life have been embarrassing myself on social media
it's constant.

there is no sound in the world
muddy infrared generalizations recognized as awareness
in deep thought means I stare at an object in silence.

since then a spider has become more nothing than usual
I think I might have died too
passion for writing is the chemical decay so carbon dating is calculated through words

the truth has never emptied me so thoroughly
my headache is gone, I wish this was good news
a kiss is worth savoring like the number of days your friend's Netflix account stays active

what did God try to create
a reality where one can receive a MFA in loneliness and still manage to be unemployed
that is a distinguished honor especially since Facebook has been pivotal

the older ones are more sturdy;
you feel grounded when you sit down.
the newer ones are illusory;
you'll think you're grounded, but it's just way too comfortable to be sure.
if you sit long enough on the new ones you might fall through the expensive fluff supporting your inactive derrière.
the older ones won't do that to you;
they were hand-crafted with care, molded to never let your *** tumble to the floor
in a frantic attempt to grab onto something, or just to protect your heart from breaking on the splintered wood.
that and the new ones have a Made in China sticker on the left legs.

laying horizontally is an eastern
yoga relaxant for food babies.

I learned this while running in Chinatown
with stolen cash after a mob dinner.

the bodyguard knocked me out and my
stomach felt great as I layed their on the street.

aside from the headache,
and the mild Head-On addiction

I was fine and very sleepy.

A little girl and her father broke into my house
Their aim was to steal my daddy’s records
Later they said it was to open a bar
There were way more records there than I remembered
Crates and boxes stacked on top of each other
They let me keep some of the Doors’ records
I don’t know how they knew I liked that band
I panicked, knowing how long my dad had kept and preserved his collection
My sister showed up somewhere, somehow
I asked her to call the police, but she refused and refused
I was bewildered
I finally got a phone, but it didn’t work.
I found a gun
But it was a water gun
It shot out pink goo at the offenders
Finally I flashed to the scene of a hollowed out lake


We must have looked like witches and wizards
Flying on our homemade broomsticks
Soaring just below the clouds
Swan-diving into pillows of treetops
The feeling was indescribable-
Being in control
Until a sister sold me down the river
Placed you on sale to the highest bidder
Words were exchanged
My heart took flight and was broken

God and the devil were in cahoots that night.