from Feed

Once, I wrote about being ancestrally from a desert
that drought made me restless
searching for a nourishing territory
Tonight I am on tour I am pierogis
Ross Pierogis
Beer battered fish tacos and jalapeño corn
bread Aloe lavender face goops
Obsessively checking my bank balance
and vocal rest
stop
in Connecticut
that has a Sabarros, a pick n mix candy store, a Taco Bell AND Chipotle:
Proof that linear time is a gd sham

Shall I be a poem for you?
I mean, I used “shall” tbh
me af
the human condition smdh
the bible lol
bibliosexual wtf
the library iykwim
No territory will ever satisfy me

af

Cousin dies, some overdose, and another cousin
has a daughter Incel man
plows
into ppl w/a truck in Toronto mostly women
and there r something like 70 million
more men than women in China & India and

Roy SAYS HE HAS whoops says he has
a new metaphor, except it’s not
a metaphor A literal part of his
heart
has died
says the echocardiogram
he got before starting a new med
but it’s fine he just needs to eat more farty
salads and Mamihlapinatapai is the most precise
word according to linguists
from the Yaghan language of Tierra del Fuego
It means something like when you leave a café bathroom and want to
tell the next person in line it wasn’t you who took the smelliest dump in
American history but you keep walking I mean it means well it’s more
like when two ppl look
at each other and the look
is that they both
know

what the other shd do but neither
wants to initiate and Wilkes
after twalkin bout her non-invasive surgery
says John Krazinski is the shortest of three
brothers the others 6’8 and 6’9 and I start to
pal-
pi-
tate
My back arches so hard I snap in half

on the Link Light Rail on the way to drop off my stuff at Rich’s in Cap
Hill
b4 checking in w/Colleen b4 my reading at Mount Analogue
at ZZZ Space and IMAGINE BEING
THE MOZARELLA IN BTWN THAT FUCKING SLICE OF
BAGUETTE R U KIDDING ME 6’8 and 6’9 I NEED TO BE IN A
SMALL CLOSET IN A SHOE BOX APT IN THE CUT OF THE
STICKS LIKE TOTALLY ALONE SUFFOCATING INTO A PAPER
BAG and Jess texts
me she’s got a mass inside her the size
of an orange she’s going under next
week and I’m practicing
lines

for when I officiate Becky’s wedding some kind
of grand
metaphor abt the golden
hour That light, that sliver of golden light, is light unlike any other
light you’ll ever encounter—Nothing we’ve ever made can come close to
that glow Not a filter not a software not a bulb A gathering of
circumstances that produced the light of you right now in this moment
& someone tells me “You shd wait
five yrs in btwn publishing
books like what’s
the
rush?”
and I’m like did u not just read? My cousin died today
and he was only two years older
than me and it’s been this way my whole
life like biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinch

I would LOVE to imagine
being alive in five
years but I have these bones u know?
and just like that I’m writing
a poem
a poem
a poem
again

It’s spring. I’m tired of being grave.