Poetry

Is a King of the Blues?

Let me tell you an interesting lie. I hadn’t seen anything as beautiful as the inside of my eyelids before you found me. That’s not the lie.

How to Survive in 1995

If you resemble… A ghost, Then… Ask the smoke how to Magnetize your skin

Patch Notes

of fatigue, of frost

of taking right turns
around the same block for days

for the Memory of a Birthday dying

democratic domes and anarchical gyres

the mechanism of every second pulling you in uncountable directions. the progress of spinning in place, the trek through the same footprints you’ve worn into memory—and then you open your eyes