(chorus:)
doom scrollin in bed
don’t let dem trolls
get to your head
Still rollin these meds
am i gonna consume
or will i show up instead ?
doom scrollin in bed
don’t let dem trolls
get to ya head
im still rollin these meds
just to hold me through
aint forget what you said
(verse:)
wake up
doom scrollin in bed
stay up
doom scrollin in bed
don’t even know
what im doin
to my head
social media
fuckin us up
in real time
i don’t even know
what i read
i think i feel fine
just give me another hit
of that algorithm
give me a another nip
of my mentions
give me another rip
for the tension
give me somethin to sip
for my friends
that aint still with us
I know ya need some too
anything to lean on
to help ya get through
pour some out
for the world we once knew
Everything goin AI
and it aint The Answer
seem like its goin to the wayside
cuz greed is a cancer
sink they teeth in ya
from the pampers
to the pampers
livin off hate and lies
if ya say the truth
they gon try to make an example
outta you
stand up for yourself or get trampled
but some people can’t choose
some gon try to take advantage
better understand it
now it’s shit we go through
like this tunnel of this escapism
runnin through my head
while i’m thumbin through the web
(chorus:)
doom scrollin in bed
don’t let dem trolls
get to your head
Still rollin these meds
am i gonna consume
or will i show up instead ?
doom scrollin in bed
don’t let dem trolls
get to ya head
im still rollin these meds
just to hold me through
aint forget what you said
An hour left to my shift at the store
and flanked by empty boxes on the floor,
I am startled by the appearance of a young woman
pulling her stroller to a stop beside me.
In a mad dash back from droning deep thoughts
I immediately fumble competency with a Midwestern ‘ope!’
followed by a stuttering attempt at understanding
the goal of this common interaction.
Is the customer having trouble finding something?
Is she trying to shop the wall behind me?
Or is she just trying to politely squeeze by?
Then, almost as immediate,
a slightly more reflexive shift
in thinking.
She’s actually kind of cute,
has a really pretty smile;
do I dare a glance for a ring?
There’s nothing on her fing–
Thmp!
The daughter
pelts me in the gut
with the last bite
of her banana.
You’re right! I’m sorry!
Boss has spoken! Mom just
caught me off guard and
even the best of us slip up sometimes.
The shocked mother sharply inhales,
gently coos we don’t do that! It’s not very nice!
then to me, laughing nervously, she offers her apology.
I laugh with her
(did she even notice the dipping of my eyesight?)
offer an empty box for the discarded morsel
(she’s probably caught and still catches so much worse)
then she carries on with her day
(I’m not even sure if what I did could be considered wrong
but I try, all days and always, to stay conscientious.)
As for the little girl in her stroller,
yet unaware of the centuries old back-and-forth
she just threw her first punch in,
her widened eyes never once stray away from me.
I hope when she’s older
she’ll still have that fire,
wielding it sharp and graceful
for when the threats are real.
To live is to dance, was Darcie’s great passion
Life pulsing through her in graceful fashion
Quietly luminous bohemian beauty
Gentle, soft-spoken, audacious and gutsy
Piscean artist: burning fiercely as flames
Her supple dancing dynamic range
Hard work, talent, dance study age seven
Budding career seemed ever certain
We met in third grade became true friends
Otherworldly girl: time knows no end
Caught up in our imaginary world
‘Twas more real to us than here and now
Me: moved in and out of Sacramento
She: arts high school in San Francisco
Our dance evolving with ebb and flow
Attuned as one, yet we dance alone
Darcie’s rising star Julliard bound
Encouraged and mentored by Trisha Brown
Traveled back east to finalize her plans
One last trip before fruition’s dance
Her cherished dreams were not to be
Traffic accident in NYC
Three weeks ‘fore her 19th birthday
Across rainbow bridge she danced away
To live is to dance, was Darcie’s great passion
Life pulsing through her in graceful fashion
Quietly luminous bohemian beauty
Gentle, soft-spoken, audacious and gutsy
You were fully alive and always will be
Scrub, dunk, rinse, repeat.
Scrub, dunk, rinse, repeat.
A mundane task embedded in the depths of our souls.
Scrub the body, dunk it in the cleansing waters, rinse to purify,
repeat when the world stains you, or you blacken yourself
with your senseless sin. Tradition as old as the dawn of time.
Humanity induces messiness in its drive for perfection
on its surroundings and on itself. Clean up, try again, a cyclical cycle.
Yet, when the cycle is forgotten and the cleansing never starts,
how long until the dishes pile up?
How long until it overflows?
How long until it falls apart?
Rinse and repeat.
Rinse and repeat.
Rinse and repeat.
They continue, because who has time to care about the world’s state
or one more dirty plate?
They’ve been left in the rocky desert,
trafficked for their young usefulness,
used to the point of uselessness,
turned into examples, then abandoned.
A sense of mercy would have lain them
with respect, instead of shouldered
and thrown to become leathered bones.
Stolen lives, taken by money and lies,
now valued only by their grievers.
(after the 2019 photograph, “Endangered 8,” by Tamara Dean)
i’m a stitch away from
soft implosion
think i like her cause
her cheeks are slick & cherried
think she’s angel twin
too my first girllove
first middle school
best friend turned
maladaptive daydream
we stole beers from her mom’s
garage fridge inside her hot home
in zebulon we sat under moonlight
some nights as she smoked
cigarettes she took from her mother
without her noticing & then she
got swept away with the wind of life
& ran from me on deer legs kicking
up all these feelings in me
& now i see her face in my ex
boyfriend’s new girl & it troubles me
something deep how twin
they seem blue eyes
hair flaxen blonde cigarette fiend with
the same taste in heavy music & aura
is it bad i want her to notice me sweet?
is it bad i wanna save her from my ex’s
small boney hands & self deprecating narcissism
wanna tell her she can’t love that boy
cause he doesn’t believe in loving himself
wanna tell her he’ll probably leave her out
to dry like roadkill but something tells me
she might already know my existence & the soft
rage in my belly from his sharp teeth biting micro agressions
into me the wounds haven’t healed yet but
i think my blood is stained permanently on his teeth &
i like to think she must love the taste of me on him &&&&&
i hope she dreams of me inside his eyes
Wetsuit diver on the edge
plunging backwards.
A vein slit vertical.
Cold water. Cold water.
Sink into that deep unknown.
The jettison motor aborts
launch escape systems.
Spiraling, spiraling, fast.
There is no more fuel,
just the big black forever.
Space. No breathing room.
No need to pump gallons.
Get rid of them, become light.
Like a gun flashed to the cops,
and the magazine falls,
there is no come back.
Slip past the precipice.
Cross a point of no return.
Cold water. Cold water.
From such great heights
a plummet is more beautiful,
a little slower, a little more
to ponder. Spiraling, fast.
But not too long. Quick enough
to be convicted. To be sure.
A heavy hand goes weightless
with the freedom of abandon,
purity of decision, descent.
Wonder if I struggled to recognize
the feeling this time because
it’s so mellow, not a raging flame
that threatens to take me out;
it’s more fluid, a trickle
of barely molten ash that keeps
zigging and zagging along my path,
tracing its way to a steady stream
of flowing water I’ve been waiting
to drink my entire life.
Passion is powerful and all-consuming.
Deep love is wonderful and abiding.
But alone these are insufficient.
Should you try to pretend otherwise, you will fall.
You will fall into years of quiet heartache.
Months where you try to exhaust yourself before bed,
staying up later,
and later,
distracting yourself
in every waking moment,
terrified of what you will face
alone,
in the dark,
with your thoughts.
Because you know.
You know the truth.
Deep inside you,
you know the truth:
Being in love is not enough.
