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Stuff

i only know as much as i can stuff in my head
a monstrous accumulation of trash & treasure
the ghosts in my closet & the beast beneath my bed
a stone’s throw away from a world with measure

a monstrous accumulation of trash & treasure
we only exist when fed by the storms
a stone’s throw away from a world with measure
an infinite world not yet eaten by worms

we only exist when fed by the storms
this world with a mighty tempest on the edge
an infinite world not yet eaten by worms
our demons lurking just outside on the ledge

this world with a mighty tempest on the edge
the ghosts in my closet & the beast beneath my bed
our demons lurking just outside on the ledge
i only know as much as i can stuff in my head

Timbus

what do you get when you crash
your car into a wall
of broken radios?

you go back to berlin
you mistake time for
tricycles racing through the house

air raid sirens of anxiety crush
hearts in a grip of serpents!
all vinegar in the veins

so you go back to brasília
looking forward to
anger & spite & cayenne crosswires

mistaking time for
a crashing of glass cars through
monumental cold

& you go back to berkeley
but you can never go back
never go back to the blood of lost teeth

If on a Summer’s Day…

I walk into a bookstore, looking for a cheap paperback. A pale woman with bright-blue eyes looks up and gives me a smile. Her hair is dyed purple and green; her clothes are all black. My heart swoons, though I haven’t even known her for a short while. But when that pale woman with bright-blue eyes looks up and gives me a smile, I forget all about the book I came in to find. My head swims, though I haven’t even known her for a short while. These are the times my heart overpowers my mind.

I dazedly forget all about the book I came in to find. Was it an epic fantasy or a dark murder mystery? These are the times my heart overpowers my mind. This is why I have such a messy love history. I just can’t remember if I was looking for an epic fantasy or a dark murder mystery when I originally walked into this bookstore, looking for a cheap paperback. This is why I have such an awkward love history. I’m a fool for women with dyed hair, dressed all in black.

Reality Bites

As far back as I can recall, I’ve wanted to be an artist when I grew up. It often shifted between wanting to be a novelist, an animator, a comic book artist/writer, and an obscure poet, but I knew I wanted to be a professional creative.

I’m almost halfway through my 47th year and I am not, nor have I ever been, a professional creative, although I have been writing poetry and prose and blog posts continuously for over 30 years. Even though it’s painful for me, I want to talk about why I’ve struggled with creating the art I want to create and why I haven’t tried to go pro. (Continued)

Plymouth

hey, you guys
in the cunning disguises!
can i join your masquerade?

a space
a place
a mysterious case of who are you?

oh!
oh no!
no lost again
but butterfly & moth
& a little bit of frost
to chill

oh, you guys
in the cunning disguises!
can i drink your lemonade?

a space
a place
a mysterious case of upstaged youth

truth!
no truth!
truth lost again
most moth & butterfly
& a little bit of rye
to drink

look, you guys
with your cunning disguises
you’ve lost
your case
for an endless empire

All the Ghosts We Never Leave Behind

picking off pieces of skin
as i go
on & on & on & on
smooth as a snake
warping & shifting
lifting my face from the floor

this is me
who i am
who i never was
who i will always be
cracking my voice
changing my shape
eating too much
dancing too little
on & on & on & on
a little bit of sad
a cup of frustration
a bag of hope
an ocean of tears

& the sun is too bright
& the mercury is too high
& the music is too quiet
& i’m much too happy
& i’m far too sad
& i’ll never lose these chains
as i go
on & on & on & on

cracking my bones
bursting my skin
changing my shape
again & again & again & again