You notice you’re being followed. Headlights in the rearview mirror—though they all look the same, these seem somehow familiar, like a pair of eyes you’ve seen in a dream.

A spoonful of vanilla ice cream crosses oceans of history. Hold that dollop on the back of your tongue.  Consider.

Today, nothing could be whiter than vanilla ice cream.  Vanilla means white.  It

reasons why my father sent me a picture of a dead coyote

to start a conversation

to assuage my worries

to prove he knows my brand

to remind me of my mortality

to remind me of his

to

Asynchronous
Or,
Damn You, Tinder
In Which
A Mobile Dating App Provides Reminding that
We Are All of Us the Playthings of Chance

Waiting in line at the DMV that squats at the center of

“God is good!” my uncle Albert chanted, and his congregation agreed in full force.

YES! AMEN! YES GOD, AMEN!

“God is willing to heal you of all that hurts you, my children. All he asks for is

Please Hold

I’m patiently unraveling
on the phone while the automated service
explains overdraft and accrue
and rollover – I’m not talking to anyone
but I’m pleading nonetheless.
       I’m

The more time spent at the sunglasses booth, the more willing you are to endure pain and suffering just to feel human again.

First Week of April, Los Angeles
(as transcribed from the iCalendar “what really happened”)

1
got crab and salmon sushirritos with the ex and put on planet earth 2 right at the moment sir david

Peter wakes up first and texts me, hi baby, hi boo, hi honey pie.

And it was at that moment—seeing that light and realizing that other people were together in the world in that very same light while he was in an alley watching himself on TV—that he finally felt something: an overwhelming, honest and simple sense of sadness that felt like a beautiful release.

At eighteen I got two stars tattooed on my ankle. I used to tell people a variety of stories: they were falling stars, they were the stars from Peter Pan, they were the North Star and its unnamed

What I've written here is, of course, something that Kurt Cobain will never know. On April 8, the discovery of his suicide was 24 years ago in history. That's almost a quarter of a century, and I

This wasn’t supposed to be an essay.

I became obsessed with the idea of bunting. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I wanted to make my own.

10,000 years from now

two men will be
digging
in the ground
and they’ll find
a frisbee
buried deep below the surface.

one man will look it over,
puzzled,
and turn to the other man
and

"I’m always looking for ways to pay more attention. I thought maybe I could be a better writer if I knew what private investigators knew, if I could see a clue for what it was. I’m still learning."  

to gain followers I use my body then / I lose them with my poems

After I turned thirty-five, the age of forty circled me like a shark. My dread of it intensified with each passing year. On my thirty-eighth birthday, I braced myself. The movement in the water had

The puppies are back at WBC, and I’m third in line. 

The machine sleeps in the corner. Its dreams are projected onto large white walls where we watch them and record our reactions.

while i / in half-lotus / pluck stubble from / my belly

When you’re sad, you go to the ballgame. 

i only do the poet voice / when i'm hungover

“Get in here!” yelled Grandma. “Carrot Head is gonna sing!”