There were no recent photos of him. Only ones from when we knew each other, reposted over and over, as if he were still there…in 2003.
I don’t remember the beginning
I just remember it had lines
If I were a man, I’d play football
And I don’t remember the next line as well
But!
I remembered that girls should have
Is this a rejection of me, or a rejection of yourself?
My voice near your ear, or yours near mine, which one can't you bear?
Are you rejecting the chance to see how the sun does nothing
Lothar took a bold step towards Tom and sniffed Tom’s sweating, planted hand. “I think they’re friendly? If we don’t scare them?”
Perhaps, I thought, I belonged on the laundry room discard shelf with “still good?” written across my forehead.
The description stated that it needed to be handled with gloves, which was a little frightening for something that was supposed to be ingested.
look at me and how I just / sit around and fucking pout
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.
