Tag Archives: #depression

Steady Creeks

I could get used to anything, and

If weeks of tedium lie in store,

I don’t mind: as long as there’s a

Schedule; and inevitably I could dodge

Surprise, arrhythmia no longer psychologically

Jostling. I’m optimistic this disappointment

Will fade just as soon as I get situated –

Gimme a second and I’ll sit down with

You to enjoy them: all the sighs we

Settled for. And the broken doors stuck

Shut with disuse. At least they’re pretty

Doors with smart brass numbers. At

Least this new neighborhood’s

Predictable as a pop song. At least

There are some activities in store

If you go check the whiteboard


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


faster food

fall asleep

with two papercut

hands in bags

of rock salt only

to dream the ancient

elf city of el

dorado smoldered

golden-red like the tip

of the pilot light

under your only oven


live awake

with two eyes inside

holes in my facebone

only to see

the present tense

moldering around

me like snow like

so many gel caps

tossed in the volcano

That love which cannot fail to be

In the way
Infinity contains
Infinite infinities

Or the way
My life divides
Into briefer, lived-out lives

There is a sadness
That branches behind
The green in your eyes

So if you should
Wake up on a train
On its way to Pompeii

And you think you might feel
Lonely watching window rain
Drops wobble and dissolve

But you only feel a sapling sadness:
You’re just living out
One quantum version of me

And life won’t get tough
For a couple more years
So don’t worry

When you get ivied-over
By the branching, lightless sadness
When it’s the same to look

As it is to close your eyes
The god we call Because
Will do the remembering for you

And a love older than life
Will continue because
Living did sometimes feel nice

tracing arteries

spreading out each halloween
on the kitchen table, i can read
the guts of the pumpkins like a
haruspex, prodding at the signs
with my steak knife and divining
by the arrangement of the seeds
that the long-boned demon in my
bedroom will stand in its corner
for another four seasons – it is
assigned to me. reaching into
the orange gourd, there is already
a red wax candle inside. it must
have grown last year when i
prayed for help during the
holidays. the kitchen table is
sticky with the soft pulp of
future falls and not all of them
include me. carving my face
into my pumpkin idly, i wonder
why that demon never says
anything. spreading out all the
halloween candles in my mind
like the long-walled insides of
a flickering church, i light one
candle and i light them all. and i
take my lantern to my bedside

warmest climes but nurse the cruellest fangs

another sticky morning rises out
of the mucus on the horizon like
an egg-yolk wobbling into the
mixing bowl, around the flakes
of flour
oh, if only the earth were really flat
then i could hike to the ice wall
at the edge – and leap off – only to
hit what? at the bottom? and could i
shout my findings back to my assistant
in time?
but the hot, summer reality is that if
i walk, i walk forever – over land bridges
and onto other continents with different-
colored insects and leaves of alien
contour, where i will pray to foreign
gods and ask them whether this is the
right plot for a home and family, then
receive some unfriendly answer and walk
again until i’m where my mother labored
to make me, until i’m standing in the
cemetery of my ancestors – whom i
rarely texted – and asking too late for
a parable on eking out joy from the rinds
of shriveled fruit.
how did you survive your great depression,
great grandmother? how can i survive
mine, when the devil steals the little
chemicals that make me say “oh!” at
a nice, beautiful thing and leaves me
with an “oh.”
another glop on the horizon wibbles
into the bright, blue mixing bowl
around the floury tufts of cloud
and stares back, like the yellow eye
of a cyclops, waiting for me to leap

Hedonic Threshold

My face does
Not read like
Some life-or-death
Situation, yet I
Think only of both

Can you tell
That every statement
I produce, I collect
Under “Reasons to
Stay Alive”?

Do you realize
The sheer volume
Of beauty I must
Consume to fuel
A happy thought?

When a person
Tells me to stay
Positive, I wish
I had never tried
Before, but –

It is like
Running against
A hurricane to
Make it spin
The other way

It is like
Drawing nothing
From an empty well
and having a good
attitude about it

My face does
Not read like
Some coin-flip
Situation, but I
Am in the air