I am taking forever and ever to eat my yogurt. The creamy substance is something to stir and stir with my teaspoon until homogenized and then remove gently with my mouth, using no teeth, only tongue and lips.

The pomegranate seeds are a bitter, crunchy counterpoint. Still, we must bear the unpalatable in order to be more present during the blissful — even if it is, in this case, bacteria that somehow rivals Reddi Wip

With the yogurt, the bottom of the cup is something to scrape and scrape — the spoon something to leave in my mouth as a I carry the cup to the kitchen and drop it into the trash, comforted by the thought of another and then another waiting in the fridge to be eaten.

blue tongue

Ms. Nancy’s perfume meant homework, a big jar of glue and loose leaf scored with a ruler on the folds. Threats of adhesive in the mouth to punish a blue tongue. Crimson checks and the blunders specified with crisscross marks.

Ms. Nancy’s perfume smelled like the front office and phones, notices to home and the executive nun’s pressed cotton tunic and veil. The carbon monoxide fumes during the trip to school. The churning of my stomach in her classroom.


I don’t wanna open the blinds. Nothing’s out there, anyway, but the coal of a planned barbecue and a lot of big talk, a lot of banging around. Shut up, you windbag, I could say, but it wouldn’t quell the storm.

In here, a firelight and numbness, suspension on a cloud. I am a duchess on this small island with sustenance on my mind. I am assuming the position, sunning on this tanless beach while I float with no current.

wasted on words

Fake bonsai and ferns
in aluminium buckets
Here students gather
by the bunch buried in books
altho voices r barely audible
over the club music songs
Her working in a sundress
Him in a cashmere shortsleeve
Them in their jeans arrayed
like ducks by the barista
And the woman next to me
her hair hung low over her eyes
she’s now studying a flavor wheel
What is the name of this song?
I’d like to take the interview
in this chapter and donate it
back to the trees by the drive-thru

today was like this

I’m so bored of reality
Nobody does anything interesting
Why do I always have to be the one to bring perspective?
I am burnt out on perspective
It’s time for the world to act
Mister, let me see what you are thinking
There’s got to be something compelling in that brain of yours
What about the smiling redhead who was sitting across from me just a second ago?
I wonder what she had on her mind Continue reading “today was like this”

something i wrote in bed on a wonderfully windy night

i don’t want to look outside, even tho it’s a nice night. i don’t wanna see the gazebo, even tho the trees there are bending in the breeze and it looks very poetic — leaves taking flight like butterflies on the eve of autumn. i don’t want to imagine him standing there messing around with his phone, smoking. instead i flip thru a magazine and look at colorful photos of handbags, Versace ads and models looking amazing in their clothes.