A cuddling that seems so familiar fills
the room with want. It reminds. The lack
of company is a loss. One can be strong
alone, but a team is better. A dynamic duo

as they say, as we said, as we were.
Those are better than the lonely
turn of life. Walking to the Barnes & Noble, a
slice for lunch, anticipating a midday movie;
these would all be just myself.

Que serĂ¡, serĂ¡, we all sigh. Captain obvious
over here, telling us like it is, like we already know.
Pizza isn’t the best option for food, for sustenance,
for, uh, lunch. But depression gonna get you depressed
like a button. I’m falling for you honey,
lemme cut in.

these days

bubble tea in your belly, we roll together
on warm sheets, not washed in a while.

days like these, you find fun where you can
in times like these. laughter–‘please,’ she
said, so you do, or rather, I do. I did. we could

run away just me and you, go to New Zealand
or Canada: let’s do it, let’s become a Cole Porter song,
a Joni Mitchell jam. I haven’t had a case of you yet,
but a few bottles is enough to fuck me up. I’ll always be in the bar

and you should know that about me. at words pathetic
I’m so poetic, it’s grating, I’m sure.

tapioca is good in tea
but that’s about it, we both agree.

space addles me

fireflies mate at dusk, but they seem thirsty now, an hour from midnight.
lightning bolts about in the clouds above, there is no thunder. my fever has

if everything happens for a reason, how do you explain the Texas storm,
maybe a mile up in the air, flitting about, sending fat drops, well, just everywhere?

the weather, I label inclement. turn around, don’t drown.
that’s what I’m great at.


hit. pause. is that cancerous?

he would like to believe she isn’t a liar
and she’d like not to be.

objects to objects to the subject at hand.
have I got a hand for you. great job.

we all applaud. look. it’s not we don’t approve;
it’s not we don’t approve, son.

just don’t grow up to be like those blanks.


mark this. words are powerful. they were created
arbitrarily (I guess), but they’re still so powerful.

think. no one created a black hole, and look
how awesome they are. pure power,
if I fully understand what ‘to pull’ means.

fucking hipsters

It was a rough fall and an even harder
winter, but now spring is here. The mumble

manic emo rappers are still raining down from
the SoundCloud, and she’s one of them; green

long hair with with pink wisps strewn about:
lil lex, no caps, except her album is called A PRO.


Billy and lex got married in a chunk of trees,
and I only got an invite because back in

high school I made out with the bride behind some
bleachers at a football game. Who remembers who won?

You had a black Run-DMC shirt that was cut up and sleeveless
with a scarlet bra that didn’t have any wire; you had a flute

of something that bubbled, but I never saw any glassware around.
after the ceremony everyone partied in the greenbelt, and Sasha

stayed around not drinking, but picking up trash with a plastic bag.
We smoked a joint together and I asked her your name, “who, her?”

“I dunno,” and then I helped her pick up trash for a bit as the light faded

behind the mixed native and invasive trees. She had yellow flats
with a blue flower print; I had black chucks, predictably, horribly–I wore slacks,
and my shirt had a collar, but it would not stay tucked.

later, in firelight, lil lex threw off her wedding day tube top
and Billy laughed and poured Prosecco

all over himself. they kissed, and we all applauded and you were still
there, a wry and joyous look on your face, your bangs banging against

my blurred, drunk vision. There was a milky, full moon and a clear sky,
and it was a blessedly cool night. Billy started to howl, you yawped,

and song-of-myself I swear, that made me stumble. No, it wasn’t the booze
or drugs, it was that noise from your mouth. I heard your voice and fell.

the H.E.B.

that drunk man without a home is yelling
“happy new years” but it’s only the day
after christmas. for him, what’s the difference?
automatic doors open for me, the security officer
does not bat an eye.

while placing produce on the conveyor
I got distracted and
some little inkling of a poem slipped out
my mind, off my earlobe, and smacked
the ground. it flipped like a fish, wriggled

for some other undeserving wretch to receive.

now here I am, fuming;
the cashier lady won’t make small talk,
because she’s too busy talking to the person
in front of me, and also working.
I have some strong feelings
on this coffee I’m about to buy.
bad shit in Burma all week, but this ground
bean bag contains cayenne and dark chocolate.
it is fair trade, organic, and allied with the rain
forest so don’t you dare say I’m not a hero.

the cashier still won’t talk to me, but I listen
to public radio, and we all know that the world
is awful. just, wow, look into her eyes. look into mine.
eventually we’ll start crying and I think that means we’re in love.