Category Archives: #prose


Standing out there with
A couple guy friends
I tried to pay her
For this bright powder
Like I swapped with her
(She who only lights
Her cigarette with
The blue of the flame)
Cash for this baggie
And literally
Her friends were burning
Money outside the
SEGA (watched them fall
like red cardinals)
Flaming paper bills
Spiraling in smoke
Yeah my money, too
So I wtf
But key myself up
And pretty soon I’m
Seeing steel flowers
(Those you see in death:
of geometries)
And I’m saying thanks
But I have to beat
A high score inside
“Sure whatever man”
And actually
She was kind of rude
But who cared? Sonic
Went around back then

, never mind.”

I stopped tripping but like
No no no no no no no, wait
What if
What if I never stopped tripping
No, hey seriously
What if I’m late
For work
Or bed
Like if I’m young
I’m out past curfew
Or whatever okay I mean
I feel
What if
Like what if I need to go home
Or else I’ll be trapped here
And pronounced dead
Fuck it,

We thought heal

He was young

So we saw

Him as confident

In his ability

To heal yet

He did not

Get back up

So to speak

He was young

So we thought

As one we

Thought his ability

To heal was

Young so to

Get back up

So to speak

We saw he

Did not he

Was so young

We thought we

Thought as we

We thought we

Saw his confidence

Get back up

To heal yet

So to speak

He thought to

Speak to get

Back up to

Heal but we

Thought as one


Studies Show Beauty Show

“Studies show attractive people

Are more beautiful than people

(Who think of themselves)

(As unattractive))


“Using a scale of appreciation

(Controlling for this and that)

Confirms what we have always



“Beautiful people are (in fact)


(Whenever (and only when)

They (are) attract(ive))


Hard Problem

A time like next-now

I’m having had thoughts

(Feels so completely

∃!ach microangle

Will make smooth spheroids

(Yet I can’t touch suns))

What un-sun burnting

Then-now-next in mind

Ignites my lamp? Will

Light out of gray grime

Into hot muscle:

Turning, churning, blue:

I passed a Star Test:

An Exemplary

Think-thought of some sun

In my clean darkroom

(Crimson, I can see

New pictures (Oh, I

Captured this nice piece?

(Is this shadow mine?)))

Source: Hard Problem


In the morning, I leave my body and float to your house, a cool specter, a breeze traveling in a breeze down three streets to your little box snuggled against more boxes. Your curtains tremble and the dawnbeams struggle toward your face, because I have always brought the temperature of the room down upon entering. And you speak in your sleep. It’s cold, cold. No. It’s too cold. Go away. So your room and I sag woefully and your walls wilt and I float on, homeward, and close my eyes. I stretch my flesh back on and pull the sheets up closer to my face to escape the cold. Then I roll over and check the time on my magic voice machine, lately a quiet birdcage. And outside, a day stretches its way out of the tenebrous fibers of a night, like the emergence of a warm, wet egg. So phantoms may no longer roam. And somewhere, you wake up.