Wednesday, November 28



We, sinful salivators,
penetrated by Television
folding our hands on weekends
asking please remove
the seed of joy, the thorn
that makes us want ourselves.

Who taught you to love yourself?
You can't name them. You don't need to.
All humans are shapes,
all shapes have complements.

It's hard to name yourself.
But there's nothing else!
Lava drinks steel and farts out
identical charred suburbs.

Make something broken.
Try to fix it, but
twist and break yourself.
Write a word.
Each silver, graphite curve
is an indulgence.

Website updated. Poem collections: