Gin and Ketamine



I will hurt you.
I will, I will
Wrap up your stability,
Shove it in a sock,
To beat in your skull with.
I will bite you.
I will, I will kick you.
I will, I will claw you,
Claw your eyes out,
Oh, honey.
I will be the worst thing
You’ve ever done
If you let me,
If you let me slip to your lips
Like a centipede in your milkshake.
Black snake eyes
To end your lucky streak,
But you never gambled, did you?
I will be the smell of
Vomit on your new suede shoes,
After you gagged swallowing swords and fire
That came lunging at you
Out of the air.
Baby, if you’re going to live on the outside
You’ve got to
Learn to duck.

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How We Go



I’ve never been fond of uncertainty,
Despite my dedication to
Marking up anything crystal clear,
A frightened octopus making ink clouds
To forge signatures with.
I kneel and pray,
“Who’s in charge up there,
I would like to speak to your manager,

Some days I am floating in a vacuum
Others, I’m stapled to the floor
Of a boxcar filled with things I’ve dreamt
Until they were gone.
I stand up to walk, leaving my feet behind.

When I was quiet, I could hear the future
Exiting between words in a sentence.
I still see it when it goes missing,
Whispering life into a consciousness
I thought I left choking in the corner of a room.

Revenge is not a healing language,
Regret is coagulated blood in my veins.
Love, with a existential debt to the universe
Who loved you so dearly that you were formed
From stardust.

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Avocado, Pt. 2

Heart of stone,
Scarred where the knife
Hit its mark.
My finger,
Bleeding from when
It missed. IMG_9377

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Avocado, Pt 1.



The feel of your skin
Resisting my knife
Delights me.
It means you are not too soft

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Sunny Side



I step off the downtown bus
In humid, too-hot-for-spring heat.
I remember when I first moved
To this side of town and
Put a bridge between my geography.

Here, lines of skateboarders
And littered trails by the river,
Buildings filled with lives of every color.
I wander past cemeteries and parks
Both appear green on the map.
A train rumbles
In the distance with my thoughts.

I’ve learned a dozen roses will survive
Eleven days in my car with no water.
An unsubtle, browning message
That not even an end comes quickly.

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The Night Before



Each day grows more and more like yesterday
A swollen sunshine beating down on us
Making me sweat with the anticipation,
The hope,
That I might finally melt away.
Hand in hand,
I give each of you a finger
Saving only my middle ones
For ease of communication.
Each one, who wanted to own a piece
Without knowing what the pieces, together
Appeared to be.

Heart beats per minute equals, measured at
Negative forty degrees Fahrenheit,
I don’t know the conversion factor,
I only convert boys to men,
Then back again.
I wear a name tag to bed so
In the morning I will remember more easily
Who we all were
The night before.


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I Am Your Monsoon


Here is art,
Filling the air
Inhaled by sick lungs
Yours and mine.
Here is an aura,
My feet are chasing
Pounding pavement carelessly.

I stand, a witness to your boyhood
A jury to watch growing pains,
Shaving nicks, and other places to bleed from.
I might save you, but I wouldn’t try.
There’s no receipt,
no past the point of no return.

Something changes with the wind;
There are rocking waves that I sailed away with.
The tide has swallowed my land,
Don’t plant your flag here.
Hurricane season hasn’t left,
I am your monsoon.



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Grinning with new teeth
(3 shades lighter than last week)
Bared, ready
To tear throats from necks,
Lettuce leaves from dainty salad forks
Keeping my shaking legs steady
Beneath the skirt of my
White, eyelet dress.

When my room smells
Like swimming pools
I feel less like
I might be drowning.
I douse my floor,
My sinks,
My eyes in bleach
Hoping it emerges, sparkling

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No New Goodbye



When there is
No new goodbye,
Only soft, sweet greeting,
Finally, will there be
A safe place to land.
I haven’t fallen,
Though I have stumbled down stairs
And into open doorways.
Tripping turned sprinting
I’ve made a cardio routine
Out of running away,
Leaving other people to
Bandage the scrapes.
The heart is just
One more muscle to sprain.

Soon, I will be a new machine,
Stainless-steeled, sparkling.
Only taken apart by
A meddling handyman
Too adept with a screwdriver
For his own good.

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DTJ or Broadcasts from Locker Room

Even the postman stopped
To scratch his head and say
He’d uh thought that
We’d uh fought a war.
I didn’t mean to disappoint
That dear old boy
As he handed me a postcard,
With a few lines,
“Wish I were somewhere
But here.”
I wanted to hand him back
A message about
Criticism, prosperity, and depth,
How these blueprints for battle plans
Makes me want to vomit on your boat shoes,
Like rancid canola oil going down.

You can kick us like your ex wife and
Beat in my teeth with your insecure hands.
Call the fire department to extinguish my bra,
Teach me how to take these blows like a man,
And I’ll teach you to blow better,
And take it like a lady.

Think of me,
Busted-up smile, untrustworthy face,
While you think back to
Your locker room afternoons,
Embarrassed about how quickly
Your ego would show,
How strikingly pathetic and tiny it was.

You use adjectives to tell us
What we can do to you in heels,
Every shrieking moment
More crass, less relevant
We know how to do these things in flats.

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