i don't own a time machine / so here i am gargling syrup / at waffle house at 2:13 a.m.

Fun Legs

Vaguely, like in somebody else’s dream,
one of those strange cell-phone settings ringing.
No it’s the doorbell. Forgot we had one.
I slip on my Hyatt Regency robe.

It’s almost happy

it explodes painfully

looking up at me with eyes like dogs
who’ve humped too many pillows
and now it’s time to pay the price

things will get harder before they get easier

Monica invites you to her church while you’re jumping rope. You’ve never been, and she tells you they mostly eat donuts and play, and talk about the bible sometimes, but just a little. Since donuts

Lies are told beneath silvery moons
And far beyond sad boys and girls falling in love.

on a quest for boobs / i become evil

At first, Grandpa thought a hawk had dropped a rabbit on Dad's head.

You are so smooth-skinned / I would send your husband / to war to die.

i grew tired of bukowski's penis / even deer looked plastic 

8: Perhaps we’ve misheard. Perhaps our facility with language will lead to our downfall. Perhaps the public lauding of our own personas is parasitic and causes continuous displacement.

And never, ever write a poem

tomorrow is what garfield / hates most of all

You hug me from behind.
Surprise attacks make me nervous.

mew mew

The final weekend of January I boarded a plane to Seattle to see, for the first time, a man I had met on a kink website. Or, as I had considered multiple times over the last two months during which we

The homing pigeon / of misery / is my baby mama's / text message.

I could hear the usual blues music booming from Ryan’s garage as I got off my bike in the driveway, sweating through my Smoothie King uniform. Ryan’s dad had started and quit three blues bands in the

Uncle Dale says, “We’re lucky that none of us can fly.”