look at me and how I just / sit around and fucking pout
The description stated that it needed to be handled with gloves, which was a little frightening for something that was supposed to be ingested.
We get quite hungry, you know, never touching the ground.
They called it the ‘tip of the spear.’ China in the east, North Korea not far.
If I tell you that my 76-year-old brother began using drugs when he was 14, you might guess what our relationship has been like over time. And, if add that my parents always favored my brother,
On the anniversary of the worst day of my life I was finally able to let go of a burden I have been carrying for more than a year. I am free, I’m not fucking crazy, there is love in my heart, and sweet gentleness in my soul.
Spirals in the / Sky spray out eight billion cassette tapes / So anyone on any other planet might wit / Just how thin earthly love has withered.
She offered the poison on the tip of a spoon.
A couple months ago my mother and I had to dig up my grandmother's grave. I looked away from her face. My mother didn’t: her eye is gone, her skin is gone, and her mouth is a big hole.
Three months out of the year I get to file for unemployment. I swim, I paint, and I try not to fuck things up. I have a real tendency to fuck my life up.
I have developed an awareness / Of my need to perform this fervor / And what I thought was fear / Turned out to be excitement.
If I got what I wanted I would actually be doing what I’d wanted to do all along, step inside not history, but living art itself. And for this I would undoubtedly be considered a bad mother—many easily burning me at the stake.
My girl smells like maple syrup and hay.
Fiction or nonfiction
Autofiction :)
Record-breaking heat today and tomorrow and tomorrow.
She was meditating with me / And eventually she was gone licked up by the surf / On a personal level, expressed in a fiction / That was the breadth of my loving and no thing more
An interlocutor here, is always the audience.
The depression soon followed like a familiar friend who I had hoped to leave behind.
Writer you’d like to meet irl
I've met enough
These untamed wild horses galloping inside these Trojan hearts / Like that beach that one summer / This one summer, it is all we get
/ Slipping through our fingers like the sands of Ios where Homer lay in dust
Video after video, she became a fan in front of the camera, leaving her future self a playlist of nostalgia.
Could it really be true that Betsey actually let him put his fingers inside her? In both holes, as they reported? How could he do that to Betsey with the Guess jeans, glossy hair, and big boobs?
I loved you better as a vague notion. Better / as an uncountable thing. Better /
as an assembly of dog treats.
I grass-skied down the camp hill in my non-specialist shoes, drifted into the icy endzone with the kids,
