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rig Jun 3
ps
by candlelight i write a feeling,
a tattooed secret onto parchment
on its fourth life – it’s simple enough:
h███ ██↋█ █f███_
that is all – nothing else is needed.
then i sign at the bottom, fold the
letter twice, carefully place it in
a yellowed envelope, seal it shut –
and i feed it to the flame, wishing.
rig May 18
i cannot remember how uncomfortable the chairs
at my highschool were – i just know that they must have been so.
all those science classes kept both my eyes on the window,
lost in dreams of different lives. i thought ‘nobody cares’
was a good reason to erase my problems – mine, not theirs,
no, ha! – so i went along with that life (emphasis, though,
on the li-e). that’s when i discovered the one way to go:
words. stories. a dim, slow lightbulb that caught me unawares.
first fearful steps turned to blog posts, then a fantasy tome;
short fiction gave way to poetry and recovery.
it took me years to know what to be floating on air is –
and now this broken english is what i call home sweet home,
imbued with the daily gift of a grand discovery:
that there are worlds still hiding from me in dictionaries.
rig Apr 24
26


q birthday ‘luck’ w/ xv mgs of pj zen:

#

home – a house, really.
good weather. old bed.
sugar intervals,
paramore feelings.
one more special day... right?

#

right… my
sister’s
kid was
born when
she was
my age
now – and
people
laugh when
i don’t
know stuff
about
taxes.

#

when will you find a girl, they say, get married, they say.
[cut to a vase] i work part-time. i wear overalls.
(it's not my birthday)
rig Mar 20
stroke my spine. pick me up
(please, don’t hesitate). feel
my cover. look into
my index. like me. take
me home (fast). breathe me in.
knife my pages open.
rig Mar 16
bad egg. dead deaf.
face cabbage-fed.
faded baggage:
a caged babe aged.
(only using the 7 letters used in a musical scale)
rig Mar 6
underscore underscore
slash backslash slash backslash
backslash slash in three lines –
add a bunch of spaces,
make it yellow and send.
wonder why you did it.
worked for me in courier new
rig Feb 27
i look up: the spider dome shows her knees of rust;
the faded dress atop and tight – dark army green,
ugly but whole – effective in keeping my head
and shoulders away from that oh so devilish
sky-shaped weeping pail’s dance.
                                                          at the journey’s midpoint,
i watch the sparkly surviving beads speed down and
around my old man’s cane – an opportunity:
at the finish line of our race (an acronym,
bit cheeky) they all hug and puddle together,
and with my road pen i write, in glyphs invented
right then, how it feels. the gap. the noisy silence.
the dry pain of not starting a conversation.
rig Feb 26
thank you so
god bless you
but which one
rig Feb 24
if i could push
the boundaries
of these neat walls,
what would i find?
rig Feb 19
mind the mind, mind of mine – mind
the body and be bothered.
away the water and wait:
voice veers vicious, violent.
forget forevers for now.
leave a little letter in
cursive, of course – curse this curse.
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