Aphids are laying eggs / underneath my fingernails // I'm looking for ladybugs / to eat them all up, fatted
Writing
Poem #15
when i saw the trumpeter blow / the horn, my jericho heart came down, / moved from flesh to fluid.
Poem #14
I tell my friend I think about suicide / every night, the thought a pillow mint
Poetry Update 3!
This week has been one of those "When it rains, it pours" sort of situations. After a submission frenzy earlier this month, two of my poems were selected for publication later this year. One was "The Wonton Taco Effect", a piece that I have been trying to have placed for nearly 2 years. The other … Continue reading Poetry Update 3!
Poetry Update 2!
Exciting news, everyone. My poem “Rule of Nines” has recently been published by the gracious team at The Indianapolis Review. Please, check it and the other great work out! bam
Poem #13
Your head is a Lazy Susan / spinning busy, out of control / like the wheels of time grinding / you down
Untethered
My father always told me to look to the stars to find my way home. That was true a long time ago, when he was younger, before the universe started fraying at the edges. The stars haven’t shined brightly in decades. Even if they did, I’m not sure I would know the way home, especially all the way up here. But it’s easy to pretend that I can pinpoint where Earth is out this little window, despite the fact that there is nothing but blackness and the occasional moon or bulbous orange planet that doesn’t remind me of our galaxy at all. We’re far from where we started.
Poem #12
we linger on your hangnails, / preparing to be chewed away.
That Satchmo Sorrow
There is smoke. It has grown thicker over the last hour, invading my lungs and stinging my eyes. I take another hit and begin to cough. Someone laughs, which is to be expected. With six joints circulating between the eight of us, there is a certain etiquette that is expected. The chuckles die down and leave us in silence in the cool dark of someone’s basement that is lit up with Christmas lights. I guess I don’t know where I am. I guess it doesn't matter.
Dysphoria
Dez is not a morning person. I remind myself of the fact when I feel the urge to ruffle his hair. His snapping turtle role isn’t worth a few moments of happiness. In the end, it’s my feelings that’ll be hurt and Dez who won’t remember what he said, halfheartedly apologizing in his boxers over coffee before I go to work.
