Appreciate your teeth.
I lose mine twice a week in my sleep.
Instinctual, like birds migrating south
They clamber, bloodied, out of my mouth
Their enamel feet leaving tracks in the street.
Gumming on food I long to eat,
I’m unable to stop their retreat.
Appreciate your teeth.
Recurring Dream 10/20/2014
Appreciate your teeth.
try as I might
no draft blocker will stop
the ashes of others homes
from drifting into my own
red eye 09/10/2020
another blood sun rises over the city
a gaudy eye of sauron,
another gore orb portent
that’s lost its luster, can no longer muster
up alarm ala this is fine dot jpg.
maybe im just numb.
maybe its dumb, or
maybe ill finally be an adult
when i learn to tolerate seltzer.
ill embrace the swelter.
ill let everything burn
in exchange for my turn
at just a fraction of a comfort
for just a sliver of this dead earth.
dried out brittle dreams make excellent kindling.
who were you to think you could earn a living?
this is fine dot jpg 09/03/2018
my lyft driver and I
had a good laugh
at the impending apocalypse
he advised me to stock up on essentials:
MREs from REI:
fettucine alfredo and chicken poblano,
which sounds nicer than my current diet,
to be honest-PB crackers and hot pockets.
I told him how I’m religious about Night in the Woods
and we discussed the possibility of
VR knife fights and what it had in common with
American Horror Story,
and how the scariest horror stories felt real:
actual, real-life MAGA murder cults,
coming soon to a small town near you.
plump little hansel,
hop in my pot.
you’ve come to feed my hungry ego-
a soul-deep hunger,
my pathological need to nurture
strongly favored over nature-
the goldfish I wished
were real so much
I relished it to death.
but I’m grown now,
so when you begged for a break
I broke the seal,
bit back the ouroboros
snipped the mobius strip,
but still couldn’t resist checking up on it
to see if it needed any mending.
reminisce on summer bliss 07/30/2018
several summers ago,
we walked from Cal Anderson to my place.
it must have been Seafair,
since the Blue Angels roared overhead-
there the air hung heavy with anticipation.
your hair fell like gentle rain,
and with soft, soft hands,
the summer madness had me
in its grip,
drawn to your lips
as if hypnotized-
like the sweet silence
might just suck me in.
researching the self 01/23/2018
I’m not a continuous person, but more of an unstable time loop. An amnesiac continually revisiting past selves to deliver them reassurance, manifesting in their dreams like some future spirit that encourages them to go on, and on, and when they wake up, they’ve written a prophetic poem that they’ll bury in the annals of the internet for a future self to unearth.
And what welled up within was that sense of longing, a yearning to feel whole again, to synthesize the old with the new, to stitch new and ever more complex stable time loops: those frozen moments to return to, still visible even within the digital transience, the quicksands of time-
and that past self comes flooding back, fuller than ever, finally whole and complete as the loop begins to close and stability and solid ground are fast approaching on this inevitable descent…
the crying circle 10/21/2017
we were all present there
in the crying circle:
blindsided by the squall
as vulnerable tears fall,
drops in a bucket.
dowsed in discomfort,
us storm-tossed blossoms
caught up like roses in a gale
couldn’t help but stab
with reckless thorns.
impending dawn 01/19/2017
As the hours dwindle
and white wolves mingle
just beyond the gate,
hungry to rip health
from the throat of innocents-
those last restless minutes
in bed before reckoning’s
raucous wake-up call
fall all around, dissipate
in a precious effervescence.
Is it cliche to mourn
the end of an era?
Still it ends, inexorably
a legacy desecrated.
a dense fog, a coming frost. cracked continents crumbling
like crushed ice in a cheap fountain drink.
hopes and dreams hollowed out into eerie jack-o-lanterns.
a bitter, expensive pill to swallow.
five things I can see.
convulsions. a heartbeat, your arms:
four things I can feel.
freeway noise, tears and static.
three things I can hear.
tangerine peels and cool night air.
two things I can smell.
one thing I can taste.
a calm, but how long?
but a few restless hours
til the inevitable cruel dawn.
Hope you enjoyed New York while it was dry.
Sandy was only a preview of coming attractions.
The feature presentation’s the dramatic rift,
Continental shift as Antartica crumbles,
America stumbles and Trump bumbles
An amphibian blowing bilious bubbles
Of hot noxious air,
A methane surprise.
Ten feet of sea rise
and a black snake slick with death:
None were mentioned in the thinkpiece
titled “What will we do next.”