some of us
put our legs on
one at a time
in the morning
reattach our heads
twist them on even
if we’re lucky
some of us
some of us
take time to test
our ten fingers
run them across
a piano
a keyboard
across skin
some of us
sit in front
of ourselves
and practice
our human voices
we take time
to remember
what we are
and we are all of it
we are what we need
and what we want
and it is all beautiful
but it takes time
also beautiful
but one at a time
the legs
the eyes
the elbows
the loins
we dis attach
and reattach
and it means all the same
it means all the same things
if not all the more
some of us
we work all the harder
to create our faces
and be human
some of us
some of us
some of us



as bombs went off
as children were shoved from safe wombs

into disastrous circumstance
as so many cradled life into coma complacency
wedding rings, babies, weekly trip to walmart
tucked into egyptian cotton
moving through time at the pace of the minute hand
fifty-nine wasted seconds
as nursing homes sedated regrets into dust
as humans with soapbox voices and picket sign arms
rose up in the streets of everywhere
the tide of kanagawa climbing then crashing
over sacred fuji capitalism and the blue bourgeoisie
as green vines grew from the ground
in stop motion
bloom then bloom then bloom
then buds and from the buds tomatoes bloomed
picked off and thrown at the sad clowns on stage
as sailor moons drowned in big pharma seas
as bone densified as bones marrowed down to nothing
as criminals profit off the stirring pot
the prison store the jail bank
the rows of black faces engraved in the coal mine
as bees swarm the hive mind
as we sting at the cement
as hearts are broken and something worse abandoned
as nails are pounded into drywall
the shaking sounding through into the neighbors’ halls
as we shave and let grow hair and shave and then
one day the mirror is the face you never thought would come
big bags beneath burning eyes
jowls           gravity              winning
as we tick less like clocks and more like broken bombs

i sat
waiting forever
for the light
to turn



i shot a bullet at the mirror and the mirror shot back
and my head hit the tile with a thunderous clack
and the clack sounded loudly such an echoing sound
and as i stared at the ceiling all the cobwebs i’d found
they reminded me time has a way to keep moving
and i found myself stuck with no patience to lose and
my patience was gone it had leaked from my brain
and it packed up its suitcase and boarded the train
and the train went to nowhere or at least so i heard
when i sat back and watched and i realized absurd
things happen and we just keep sipping our coffee
as we stare at our watch in some strange hotel lobby
that we call our existence where we never are sure
if our intentions are selfless or if they come across pure
but i’m telling you this that i learned looking up
at the ceiling of the bathroom where i swallowed my blood
that if the train that your riding ever goes off the track
and you pick up a gun and it goes in your sack
and you go to a room with a mirror that stares
and its empty and hopeless with too many chairs
and not enough people and you look in the mirror
and you’re just staring back at everything that you fear
when you pull out your gun from your oversized sack
if you shoot at the mirror it is sure to shoot back
this i know beyond reason this i know for a fact
cause i shot at the mirror and the mirror shot back



as i handed down the book for purchase
i glanced eyes
mortified by the moving bag of skin
snatching at my plastic cash
and in the silence
i said aloud to myself
“no more!”

and through the dark thicket
i crossed my sharp machete
of conversation
“how was tonight?”
“slow,” he said,
“the good news,” i said,
“you survived it.”
so very bad dad joke am i
and i saw his tongue
behind his tired teeth
itchy at the thought of response
but the receipt came before
before the words

and he stayed still
i walked away
from maybe a fist fight down an alley
or maybe solving the riddle of time



last few moments
of feeling everything

bundled winter
that runs so deep in me

i’ve set out just to get by lately
i find my time is coming back around

chasing paper
and leaving little notes

erasing stigmas
and trying not to breathe

i hold my breath from disposition
i hold my breath until my face turns blue

but in these dripping drops of sand
executing me
i find i’m nothing less than mostly whole
the most i can ever hope for

i was born this way
the way i am now
all mannequin stuffed to the brim
with the tree limbs that the lightning
strikes down

i creature of habit
holy brain
all one million thoughts
never time to listen
too busy feeling what’s coming in
the next moment
aren’t we all we all

step halfway through your mirror
and chase the time like quickly fading life

there’s a shadow
that’s casting over me
like clouds on mountains
i feel my destiny

i was born to make it through
these 27 years
come tomorrow
and in the passing traffic song
i just might find a fraction
of something worth saving
until this next life
come tomorrow



we were never meant to be anything less than

we were born to give birth to creation and take
from that creation a sense of purpose
and take that sense of purpose to church
real church life church
the church of no religion
that’s where we were meant to share this
heart thing

and there among the listening ears of one thousand
all dolled up all eyes all silence all honest
it is there that we can be heard
and capture the anthem we hear
like a lightning bug in a mason jar
and wear it around our neck
not so much like a medal
and much much more like a locket of memory

i say this all with humility
we are each and every one of us so tiny
but maybe that’s exactly where we got it wrong
we wanted the gods to be so big
but really i do believe
that the gods are so tiny
and maybe we each and all are them

maybe we are the tiny gods we pray to



never have two strangers known each other so well
sitting side by side careful not to cross the crack in the cushions
but every random glance carried the weight of everything
everything there ever was between us and eventually my fingertips
abandoned their post in this armistice to commune with yours
interlaced and quiet they rested like lovers sharing a twin-sized bed
i and you we found ourselves stumbling right back to the page
that we had dogeared the shit out of

this poem is worth its weight in paper
but what comes with it is one thousand ounces of time
dropped from a dropper onto the paths we cross
not always together but never without the other one
and where we’ll end up i do not know but i do know
that these liquid ounces of time will form a mandala
careful patient and mindful that love isn’t this thing
that you take a bite out of and you’ve got it with you always

you’ve gotta keep chewing
through the sweet there is sour and seeds and
moments of pure confusion where you find yourself
in a half empty bed and the wind is too warm
and sleepless and bruised you wander through the halls
you sonder at the dreams you’ve had since you were a child

but if you keep chewing through that
then you’ve got it
you’ve got four lips two each smashed in passion
wandering the edge of another person
delicately traveling through the stories
that never come out in words

in this world you may never be without
there is always fireflies to be caught in jars
but when their bulbs burst like old cameras
when the stars disappear down the broken drain

there in the dark
careful patient and mindful
is love.



i dug a tunnel to chinatown trying to escape the happiness that i had built for myself
cracked seven mirrors erased hours upon hours of footage of me taking acting lessons trying to figure out how to best play myself
if anyone tells you they always know who they are, they are lying
some days we wake up on the floor and it takes all the sunlight in us just to get back into bed
blankets build like cocoons but we don’t always come out with wings
nature can be a bitch
life can be unexciting
black without white is meaningless
sometimes war are fought in hopes of peace
somedays we are all all are mistakes

maybe the love poem is that i’m trying so desperately not to write a love poem about you
but you’re there, sifting through the stitches that tie my heart to my arms
and my arms hang tree to tree in the pending summer just hoping to be a hammock for you to rest your restless love in

cancel my subscriptions
burn my bills
take every word i’ve ever written chop it up and tally the words i’ve used the most
see the patterns in the madness the song that unfolds when you just close your eyes
cannibalize myself
my obsession with destruction is each time i rebuild
i dream of being an astronaut, a teacher, a homeless prophet
but i remember that all i want to be is the person i was before
just better

i ran from it all
i ran from family
i ran from love
from earnest truth
from boredom
god damn did i run so hard from boredom
but that shit is everywhere
and if you can hear the music that plays
when the record ends
when the needle just slides along the edge unwilling to give up
if you can hear the music there
you got it all

and i’ve got it all
each star in my sky assigned a name
frida and jean-michel and andy

i call that one vincent
he’s my favorite

and when my clouds roll in
vincent is still there
him and they still patrol the ethers
watching the stupid mistakes i make
less like a biopic
and more like trashy reality television

they still look up at us
always on fire they are
always on fire
always in love
always ready to swim through
the same black sky
never to find
anything but everything and nothing
and everything and nothing and nothing
and nothing and nothing and wow wow wow
am i the love i see in you and everyone