Tag Archives: #personal


Underneath the black walls of light
My star man, the female aspect
I left behind: enwombed in time:
Yang hides its yin inside of him
Here’s where we never have to choose
Between below and all above
Inside my yoursoul: two-sided:
A safe space for those gods to talk
More and more his old dark pulls me
Toward that crush in the center
Where if I wake she’s standing on
The ceiling looking up at me


By the constellating
All branded
In my crystal cabeza,
This soul case
So riddled with
Mnelactites and
Cracked watercolors
Of us here, and now
Us there then, too –
God it is troublesome
To forget you
Without drenching
My thoughts in snake
Oils sourced from
Underneath the earth,
Taken from Leviathan
Lying open
In wait.
I collect myselves
And shake out of
My pillar of salt:
Motherfucker I
Will look back
When I want to

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


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))



two kids live on their bikes
one is standing, pedaling
dead leaves tumble clumsy
across the black pavement
it is not halloween
or anything

each different night
has its name, a shade
of black for its nature
for people have names
of sound, but for nights
it’s different

snugged up in our oo
my skin gets cold creeps
when i’m thrilled, then
you read the braille
on my armbacks
with your fingerprints

just as good as an aurora
is an ouroboros inside
an amethyst terrarium
(inside an alaskan zoo
(inside the middle
of january))

life is a gift say thank you dammit

the buffalo
the baby
the king of the jews
i worship what i kill

i can almost smell the ocean
through the bleach

and at this
i take the greatest offense:
my life’s the second
half of a sentence
uttered by a pair of parents)

don’t worry child
i said don’t fucking worry

there’s no goddess of the bonobos
who punishes the chaste
and the onanist
and the barren

you don’t have to make
babies, bison, sense
none of it

but you don’t get
to not want to


the acolytes of science
dictate i cannot reach
emotional maturity for
another couple decades
(by no fault of my own
(by way of my y-chromosome))
so i sob in the meantime
and laugh and sob and
grip my fists in anger
and if you asked me why i
felt some way, i couldn’t say
i might peel my own artichoke
to measure the shape
of my very own heart
but how do you reassemble
an artichoke?