What I've written here is, of course, something that Kurt Cobain will never know. On April 8, the discovery... more
This wasn’t supposed to be an essay.
I became obsessed with the idea of bunting. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I wanted to make my own.
10,000 years from now
two men will be
digging
in the ground
and they’ll find
a frisbee
buried... more
"I’m always looking for ways to pay more attention. I thought maybe I could be a better writer if I knew what private investigators knew, if I could see a clue for what it was. I’m still learning."
What was that movie where the kids were all deaf, you asked suddenly. They put on a performance. They sang Rang-a-rang! Clang-a-clang-clang—something like that?
to gain followers I use my body then / I lose them with my poems
After I turned thirty-five, the age of forty circled me like a shark. My dread of it intensified with each passing year. On my thirty-eighth... more
The machine sleeps in the corner. Its dreams are projected onto large white walls where we watch them and record our reactions.
while i / in half-lotus / pluck stubble from / my belly
Nostalgia style: you miss your Double Double
before you even take a bite. You know
burgers become slimy wax paper crumbles,
babies become toddlers, toddlers become
“Get in here!” yelled Grandma. “Carrot Head is gonna sing!”
Daisy was going to community college classes out on SE 82nd and trying to figure out what direction her life should take. Her classes were Dental Hygiene, Religious Studies, and Ethics in Improv Comedy.
It’s the sun, I told myself again. Too much sun makes people too hyper, too happy, too sure of themselves. What we need is a little rain, some dark clouds, a berating storm.
Rain drags its cage / through the neighborhood. You / see nothing but // trenches. Rusty shovels, / the alien rocks sprayed / like genitals.
Ironically, hours before we went to see Whoopi, I texted two friends from my bathtub that I didn’t think I would ever write another essay. It was “too hard.” “People only want to vilify you, so they look for words to use to that end, and ignore the rest of what you’ve said.”
For weeks after, I watched California burn / out my window & on the evening news & the ash // in my cheeks became the only way/ to pronounce home.
Jack Daniel screams his way down my throat & it’s a dry thrust.
McGuiness in bed with chow mien. Eyeballs floating in melatonin.
“Watch your back,” moans ceiling fan. TV glow damaging optic nerves,... more
My dog keeps biting me when he’s scared / and, like anyone, is always scared.
Now I’m not dating anymore and I use the gold duffel bag to haul my belongings from one house-sitting gig to the next.
When, on August 18, 2015, the dog the internet called “The Devil” was finally cornered by the Salt Springs police... more
We’ve never lived in Culver’s territory and it still doesn’t
feel like we do. I mean, it’s at 33rd and Iowa and our place
is at 9th and Indiana. That’s like a 15-minute drive.
Every writer knows the rule of ‘write what you know,’ but the interesting thing is that you don’t really know what you know until you write it.
With the bobby pin I’ve kept beneath my tongue all morning, / my fingers spring the lock to my parent’s bedroom // where mom’s cherry lipstick glows beneath a seashell lamp.
