there’s a tickle in my throat won’t go away
drank all the water and electrolytes too
coughed and coughed
tried to swallow the tickle

there’s a tickle in my throat won’t go away
drank all the holy book and unholy ones too
choked and choked
tried to scratch out the tickle

cried and cried
tried to wash out the tickle

the tickle
is trying
to tell me

This poem is about working.
You know the kind.

The white page.
The flow state.
Revising, revising.
The waking and the walking
(so much walking)

until something finally catches
and that collision of sounds

coalesce

sing

soar.

There is nothing like it. 

This poem is actually about writing.
It’s a poem about survival.
About feast and famine.

One year I was so far gone I hardly
wrote at all. When I finally did,
molasses sludged from my pen tip
instead of ink.

And yes, it’s dramatic, and no,
the world doesn’t actually need me
to put my particular words out there in it,
but I swear to God, it almost killed me.

So now I write to stay alive.

This poem is about staying alive.

No. This is about living.

June, leaving so soon?
But didn’t we jazz real cool
slinking past no trespassing
signs for a lark in the lake—
two fools half gone on mistakes
better left to yesterday, drifting
across a blazing blue afternoon,
toes so many feet above the ground,
dancing mid-womb, June
you can’t say I didn’t love you,
didn’t adore you more than
a summer’s day

Nearest the Divine;
drunk on sacramental wine;
a true convert when,
wrapt with thee in sheets of sin,
You tell Me
                        “Do that again.”

Is there any room for it?
Is it even ethical if it starts with Sin?
It’s certainly out of style,
it may never get back
into America’s good graces again

Slipperiness
is a word that hangs on sincerity
like a rose on a tie dyed tee shirt
worn by the stay at home dad
who home schools his three kids
with three moms
and lives off his dad’s five car washes
that are scattered all over the city

In poetry it’s often used
as a substitute for form,
who needs rhyme and meter
or punctuation even 
when you can rile readers up
with another sad thing
our dear leader has conceived of doing

Sincerity never keeps company 
                                 with a skeptic
who will always question
how you tie your shoes
or how you got red hair
or did the waitress really bring 
you an American flag 
stuck into your cold slaw cup

It is not as innocent as we think,
it takes advantage of unhappiness
and is not afraid to drive off
like a maniac at the first sign
of a sense of humor, we all knew
that eventually it would crack up
  

easiest hobbies to learn
most interesting hobbies to learn
cheapest hobbies to be the most interesting
how many psi can human lungs handle
how many days are left in the summer time

13 simple steps to become a submarine operator

i’ve heard there was a certain rhyme
you could make at any time
but you don’t really need the rhyming, do you?
it goes like this, the 4th the 5th, you blink your eye –
the thirtieth, the baffled poets wondering 
where did June go? 
where did June go? 
where did June go? 
where did June go? 
where did Juuuuuunneeee go?

 ————————————————————————–

I am possibly writing this too late to be seen much, but it’s full of gratitude – for you, always for you, for showing up, for us, for the labor of love, for the work itself, internal and external and spontaneous. This month had wheels of fire. Hope to see you all soon and certainly to read you again next year <3 

A thing with feathers,
a sewer rat
a spider placed outside —
not squished flat,

a dog under table —
at your knee —
and, to my chagrin,
then there’s me.

There was a time of pigtails
and laughter 
a time of scraped knees
and bright bandaids

But I wasn’t quite her.

There was a time of first days at school,
sparkles, backpacks, and shorts

But I wasn’t quite her.

There was a time of pushing boundaries
and being misunderstood
a time of asking – who am I 

But I wasn’t quite her.

There was a time of big emotions
and finding where to fit
a time of tears and finding comfort

But I wasn’t quite her.

There was a time of growth and pride
a time of determination and commitment

But I wasn’t quite her.

There was a time I thought I was her
thought I could be her
but I wasn’t.

The first gift after
a pink can of pepper spray
I carry in my pocket
Keep this with you
always
because now we know better
than to blindly trust
anyone else