Maintenance Art

By - May 16, 2018

Driving she saw men and women and men and men and women and women and iterations of each in numerous hues unloading kids, pets, suitcases, purses, tents, paperwork, lunches, coats, all of these from cars parked in driveways like her own outside of schools like ones nearby, everything this slew of searching meat and plastic, cotton and rubber staving off a godly heave.

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Beauty Room

By - May 14, 2018

Even the things that had been bad were good now, like, say, my fat arms, which had lost their mottle. It wasn’t like I was above myself looking down, but like every nerve in me could see.

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Cult Marm

By - May 4, 2018

a billion
blanched white
in the shade
of a trillion

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excerpt of Trip

By - Apr 30, 2018

If death by comet was unexpected, and departing Earth nonphysically like I did on psilocybin was, after decades in the same metaphysical place, beyond unexpected, my experience of smoked DMT was beyond beyond unexpected. It was around two ontological corners. It was closing closed eyes twice, or waking, incredibly, thrice.

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Scam Poems

By - Apr 27, 2018

now i don’t trust anybody
and i’m afraid to open up
and i don’t communicate my true feelings

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Poems I Like

By - Apr 25, 2018

for me to like a poem

it has to barely be like one

mostly i want it to be coherent

and very short

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By - Apr 23, 2018

I grip the sleeve of Lindsay’s sweatshirt so tight my knuckles turn white. What are you mumbling? she says and I shake my head. Even if I had continued to believe in her, I know Mary could not do jack shit for me now.

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By - Apr 13, 2018

  In the windowless laundry room that doubles as my bedroom, Cellar fills me in. “Stevenson’s brother, last ... Read More >

excerpt of The Garbage Times/White Ibis

By - Apr 11, 2018

It was my guy Keith. 

I used to drink and smoke weed with him when I didn’t have a job. 

‘Crazy Keith.’

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By - Apr 9, 2018

I am going to bring a great deal of criticism on myself.

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Three Stories

By - Apr 6, 2018

The crows have all gone north. Coyotes stay out of town. Insects are slow.
Behind the house, other side of the fence: the breeze.
You think of luxury, of cholera in faraway lands.

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Louise Nevelson

By - Apr 4, 2018

This is the math that the shameful fail to see: Those who feel no shame can also feel no love. They may feel other things, but love is absolutely denied them.

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