Posts for June 27, 2026 (page 2)

We’ll sell anything at the gas station.
Beef jerky, Alani, those weird flavors of M&M’s.
Tummy ache? We have peto pills and liquid bottles.
Sugary, cold cravings? Slushies sold for $1.50.
Low energy? Put a Monster to your lips, soft like a kiss.
You’re in pain, the kind no one can see? Nicotine and Kratom products
all for you to buy, even if you are not of age; a fake I.D. will get you by,
or adults who see no harm in feeding you the same addictions
they suffer from too. So come by and buy your additives and addictives,
the gas station has everything you’ll ever need.

Water pools in the pond
raining all day
drops
and drops
and drops

Grandpa’s eyes
looking down now
flashing a smile when we say the words he knows
I see the silver crown on his back tooth
the one than grinned at me 
after swimming in his pool
hair sopping wet
my breath
short 
from gobbling up chips
soda and ice cream
my bathing suit soaking into
the khaki covering his knee

Jack is bigger now
we’ve stopped having sibling-bickering
stopped screaming at him in the pool
stopped bitching
stopped seething 

Grandma still remembers every bit of the family line
I ring my hands
she still remembers all of us in diapers
still carrying the weight of memory
when she walks Grandpa back home.

“Don’t hurt yourself”
He tells me
taking her side for safety
“You too”
His face lights up
smiling real big
the same silver glinting at me

humidity lingers from the rain
hairs still frizzing from the heat.

The skink can’t know that
the person means to save it.

The sun stretches on a Sunday morning
Across the cyan sky    clouds like quilted pillows
It settles upon the crimson  cerulean stained-glass windows
Of my childhood church  

Before the pastor stands
Behind the pulpit
I exit the sanctuary  

There     outside the ladies’ room
I meet her     seated in a wheelchair 
Skin like orange leather    third-degree burn marks
I ask if she needs help opening the door
Breath faint as a vapor   she says                
                     yes  

She tells me her name
Remarks she cannot continue to live like this
Shares she was evicted       from a motel
Her eyes fill with tears     eyelids build an unyielding dam
I offer words of hope    encouragement
Her tongue tastes them but the mind cannot digest  

I reclaim my seat in the sanctuary
Glance at her      sitting on the other side
Whisper a prayer

Pastor ascends to pulpit     proclaims
Thus far the Lord has helped us
Commands congregation to declare those words
A chorus erupts
Thus far the Lord has helped us  

I encounter her again as I depart the edifice
Sun reflects against stained-glass windows   accentuated with peace lilies
I repeat      Thus far the Lord has helped us
I pray you are going to be okay  

Her eyes fill with tears     eyelids build an unyielding dam  

I hope so
Because I cannot continue to live like this 

It’s strange to feel sad all the time
despite my lust for life
my hunger for laughter 
beautiful sunsets 
genuine smiles 
I still sink into the shadows 
a dark and comfortable place
there is no joy in it
but there is an acceptance 
melancholy consumes me 
aching deep within my tired body
I’m quiet 
the bed is soft
I welcome this feeling 
I blink slowly 
My eyes heavy with the threat of sleep and side effects from anti depressants 
I’ve always been this way
a sad part of my soul
chipped away 
not Broken or cracked
But different 
Despite the darkness closing in
I find myself smiling 
I’m numb again 

Always my instinct
In sports, in life, in my home
It’s how I roll.

Like tripping into a pile of bricks,
an oracle heard clearly. No
near-silent prophecies–doe sits still
beyond caution tape, barred owl
eye level after an uncrossed bridge–

heard clearly, this one. Listen.
The path continues. Follow it.

So from the foothills into din,
Eris marks the scene, cuts in
to burn or dodge ahead pace 
in circles, blaze up, on, or dance
in the mist, promises obscured,
 just keep moving. Later, I look

at the film, I find I left a piece
of myself behind.

Like a plant, I must be watered. Daily is ideal, but nothing is ethical under capitalism, let alone ideal.

So, put me in the car on Saturdays and drive me a few towns away and dip me for a good six hours. Be sure to remember sunscreen, two jimmy john’s sandwiches and the floaties.

If it is raining, set me out on the porch with a good book, a hot cocoa if you’d be so kind, and let me bask in the storm.

At the end of the season, make me take the day off, or a week. Send me to the A-frame, come with me. I’ll hold your flashlight while you turn on the generator.

In the winter months, keep me warm with your body and soak me in a tub when you have the chance. Bubble bath appreciated.

No to data centers
Not here, not anywhere
Yes to fireflies
Yes to feeling that life is precious
Yes to melting cold dead hearts
Yes to believing in life
Yes to asking why
Why should we build them when they do not prove useful?
Why would humanity automate its thinking?
Why would art choose validation over a journey
How much do you love narcissism?
Yes to curiosity
Yes to wonder
Yes to autonomy, privacy
These are not worth losing
The world doesn’t need it
It’s a trade of everything good
for nothing
It’s worse than any trade in any history ever
Humans should be understanding
That “Idiocracy” is a sweet playground fantasy
compared to what could be
And soon
If we sell this land, any land
If we enable this evil
For any conceivable reason
Because so far it’s doing nothing good

I’ll adopt a rule
One book in means one book out
Who am I kidding