We never changed the channel. It was stuck there for months until father died. I said it wasn’t right but no one listened. No one listened to the weather man, either; and they wonder why we’re here now. Elijah would be able to tell you why, I know that.
I don’t know a lot of things, but I know the channel never changed and my mother sang hymns…[Read more]
just to leave the substrate home like a phantom
without a way to delineate any traction,
struck out three times in high school,
suspended in a trifecta, thinking you pulled a hat trick
but realistically comatosed into believing your a maverick,
a few likes social media rammed you into thinking your immaculate….
I was there to pioneer new inventions,
even though hedonistic intentions relentless,
everybody has their own space,
their own energy, that’s relentless,
that’s bent less,
I rafted into the notion,
that were all human,
in the same ocean,
just each to their own,
when it comes to paradigm, a hidden potion, between the planter,
I like to pretend a poem is stable
and that the words are the building blocks
of life, or maybe they’re just thin, hollow
cardboard boxes, patterned with bricks–
the ones I used to play with outside
of the counselor’s office.
As a child, they let me stick my hand
in the bottom drawer. I pulled out a reward
each time, and they would…[Read more]
i think of several words and phrases. i, of course, trip on them more often than i walk over them. there are only tree roots under my feet now, no flat ground. there are only hills with slick paths and fields with no more rocks. there is no more tread. there is no more friction. so my words trip and kick eachother until he doesnt want to correct…[Read more]
The ringing always made me cry. Sal never cried; and the babies didn’t, either. Just me. And the watchers always came to our doorway and stood in it when I did. They spoke emphatically over the noise; broke into the atmosphere with their mouths, opening and closing like mourning glories in a time lapse, a race, an archive of utterance.
She thought she could re-imagine the tumble into just the way it sounded, the softness of cashmere, weightless and spun into wrinkle-free perfection. How to re-shape the act’s harshness into smooth edges bringing refinement and not a violent dizziness and grass stains on her favorite Sunday dress.
As if the tumble was everything we
had ever dreamed of–our falling like the confusion
of waking in the moonlight; our features,
shadows on the wall.
And I forced my hands into tools and forged
a new outline on the canvas, redefining you in silhouettes
of the deepest contrast. Ready-made statue,
you sat in stillness, awestruck.
His grandfather had lived near the seaside. He remembered visiting him during summer vacation with his family, before Greta had died, and before the seaside vacations became the grave side vacations. He said this, but he knew he was exaggerating it in his mind. He knew that they eventually became themselves again. His body could recall the the…[Read more]
I learned to sway in the dining room. My mother taught me how to move just so; she taught me to shift my weight in the most mesmerizing way. It was to the tune of Glenn Miller on the gramophone; my father stood in the doorway and called me a looker. I didn’t know then what he meant, but I do now. I do now.
When my mother said ‘sway,’ she always…[Read more]
When he turned the page, his finger brushed the mustard stain at the bottom edge. At least that’s what he thought it might be; hoped it might be. This is what he hated about library books. He’d read them all his life but still, he just couldn’t get used to it. The book was practically tainted now; he knew that he’d feel the reverb of it on every…[Read more]
The tree lacked all its branches. It was bare, except for a small leaf growing out of its trunk, about halfway up. The tree was the only one in the town and the people prayed to it.
The town lacked all its trees. It was bare, except for a small tree growing out it, about a mile from the town center. The town was the only one in the country and…[Read more]
You harnessed the potential and you laid it out so beautifully. It’s hard to know how to get from here to there, she said. We all said something back. I don’t know what it was, though. Do you know what it was?
I think that if we just pick up the pieces, gather them up in our aprons, we could make something divine, something covered in dust but…[Read more]
i stacked the plates and they were still wet. they clattered and spilled over each other and i knew just how upset i had made it. i made the noises that spat all over the floor. the saliva spilling between cracks in the tile, eating it from within. I knew how upset i made the walls- they had to bear witness to my mistake and all of its noises. so…[Read more]
i dont really know how to do this. my brain is wed to the idea of my misery. i write the same thing everytime i write. maybe i am a shitty writer. why cant i write today, it all sounds so cliche. all my writing does. fuck this day into oblivion.