Advice

Freedom is everywhere
There is nowhere freedom is not
Nowhere is everywhere
There is nowhere nowhere is not

Total Clarity

A girl introduced me to her tiny dog on the street. She was so small and attractive to me for this reason, but, upon feeling the wetness of her under-side, I felt repelled. The girl told me the small dog's name was Apple. Or so I thought. As I walked away the girl corrected me: "It's Apple Cupcake." Oh! Got it. Thank you.

Of A Duet

WHAT LEAVES BEHIND CHANGE  

IN

ITS WAKE THERE IS ONLY MORE CHANGE

A SINE WAVE SLOWLY EXAMINED––

A BREAKING SHIMMERING 

THE COLOSSAL LOSS THAT IS LETTING GO

OF HABITUAL PATTERNS VISITED ME

LAST NIGHT IN A SILENT DREAM

I VERGE AND SWERVE THROUGH MY

OWN FINGERTIPS LIKE IT’S

NOTHING. I LONG FOR REST. I

ADORE THIS MISUNDERSTANDING ATMOSPHERE.

I UNDERSTAND THINGS BETTER WITH DISTANCE, MAYBE

I UNDERSTAND THINGS BETTER BY UNDERSTANDING WHAT THEY ARE NOT

YES

DISTANCE, TOO, IS HERE

THERE IS NOWHERE THAT IS NOT DISTANCE

BE BOLD
BE KIND
AND DON’T IMPRESS

Vast Sight

YOUR BREAKING IS AUDIBLE.
SUBJECT YOURSELF TO SOUND

AFTER SOUND AND, NUDE,

PLUNGE, TAILFRIST, INTO 

WHAT IS 

YOU COULD REALLY DO ANYTHING

YOU PUT YOUR SPINE TO

NOW THAT YOU’VE FOUND

YOUR RHYTHM, THIS,

––FORGET IT.

LEAVE EVERYTHING BEHIND

NO TRACE IN SIGHT VAST.

Movement Happens When I Stop, Available

I BUILT YOU A FIRE IN OUR ONE 

MARRED WORLD

IN MY DREAM I READ TO YOU 

IN MY BED I ITCHED AND CREAKED

FOR YOU, LONGING LANGUOROUSLY

SHE LISTENS TO ME BECAUSE SHE

KNOWS ME

LIKE THE CITY KNOWS ME:

OUTSIDE IN THROUGH BONES

AND INTRACTABLE PAUSES

A SET OF RULES DETERMINE OUR ALIVENESS, 

MYTHOLOGIES STACK AS I HAVE 

MY MORNING POURING THOUGHT:

A THOUGHT OF MORNING

MY MORNING THOUGHT OF POURING

IN MANY WAYS I STILL FEEL LIKE

A LITTLE GIRL IN A RED PONCHO

WAITING FOR MY STOP, MY MOTHER’S EYES IN MINE

I REMEMBER ALL THAT NOTICING AS 

IF IT WERE TOMORROW’S PLAN

AND ALL THOSE PLANS WE HAD, 

ALL THAT SLEEP THAT WOULD FUEL OUR FUTURE.

I MAKE AND MAKE AND MAKE,

ANCHORED BY YOUR DISTAL LOVE

FORMED REPETITIVELY BY THIS MEMORIZING

FACULTY. 

I STILL SEE YOU

I STILL WISH YOU

WHEN I WRITE ONE GOOD LINE I 

THINK OF YOU. I WANT TO MAKE YOU PROUD, TO SEE ME

LIKE THIS TREE, JUST HERE

TO WISH YOU INTO ROOTEDNESS.

No Title

 IN A PLAY WHAT HAPPENS DOES SOMETHING STAY IN YOU OR DOES THE HEALED CHILD EMERGE SIDEWISE FROM HER LIKE-LONG-LOST-LOVERS BOX OR SCREENED-IN-PORCH BODY DON'T COMPROMISE YOUR IMMUNITY FOR ME DON'T PEEL YOURSELF AWAY FROM THIS SCENE TOO EARLY OR TOO LATE WE SPRAY  LONGLY TOWARD ANGULAR PASTS AND STORIES TOO-LONG-KNOWN NO LONGER A SHEER BLOUSE IN A FOREIGN PLACE WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER YOUR FACE SO LONG AS SHORTLY YOU GRAZE THE TEAT OF HEAT OR FORLORNLY AWAIT THE MOMENT OF JUST REALLY BEING TRUE TO YOURSELF. 

1. 

I once saw a woman doing Contact Improv, dancing, her young son like a scarf the way they wore each other. He would lay in the back behind the curtain, munching on pretzels, and rice cakes, regarding his iPad like a toy only vaguely alive––flowing forth with more curiosity than he can even yet call his. 

A rise and fall tinged with emotion so total so as to no longer appear at all.

2. 

“Observe your behavior,” I tell myself.

3. 

At the end of the day we are all 27-year-old bags meticulously packed––with the kind of cantankerous candor acquired only with over time. 

4.

I see my mom in an unhappy relationship with 

my father

I think about my career and feel only

ambiguous

5. 

An overflowing ashtray that is also a jar begs of you impossible things. As heat continues pointing that so-called-singular direction. “You’re killing yourself.”  ––Did you say kindling? Because we do need more of that; fuck.

6. 

What is everyone always screaming about. Why is it always? What.

7. 

Don’t be afraid of anyone. Don’t dump your trash onto the sidewalk. Bad fucking karma.

8.

I thought I was on a path to true higher communication. I was trying to get hired by true communication. I needed a job bad. 

Turns out it was actually only the path to communication that excites heat. “To change,” I would think. No page was ever empty enough for me then. 

I grew to want the slow kind, the deliberate burn coating the inside of your palm. Not everyone has courage like the hands of a The City. I want everything ours to be mine too and hence-thus you and me could be I and you and me and you could be this and this. If we could bare this minimum, then I would cease my feckless decorating––opt instead for a well-counseled non sequitur meandering without loss of heat.

9.

SCIENCE IS OFTE

N TRUE