poem: i misspelled the name of the artist and had to google it

do you want to know whythe academics are elitists hatedthatcher have politics like sexfuck their candidates roughlyin campaign emails andsupporting media; they knowinside their flower gardenskulls ironic skeletoneyeholes, thinking nothingeverything all at onceall like nothing, my mindis a frida kahlo painting, it is derridait is torn and deconstructedand "torn," a 1997 Natalie Imbruglia pop hitnominated… Continue reading poem: i misspelled the name of the artist and had to google it

poem: i’m thinking of starting things

sports presents: december sunday,winter light, the men first-downfirst-down. i am undecided,grad school or travelteach abroad, live love sex& kisses with strangers,his hand on my neckin the little house, jeju islandrennes then paris, toykotoyko beijjing. sports continues: why don't you crowd the line of scrimmage, says the commentator;the aloe plant next to the christmastree next to… Continue reading poem: i’m thinking of starting things

poem: her poetry is chaos, it looks bad on instagram.

here is some polite narcissism: she writes but she will never be Known; she puts too much in each poem. other people write: bright days, depression, love, woman, sex, lies, lust, morning. she writes: lovelustsexdepressiongirlcomingofageselfimagehatedepressionpomegranitesredboyshope. it is impossible to break the constellation into stars. or—maybe—it is possible, but why should she try? if her art… Continue reading poem: her poetry is chaos, it looks bad on instagram.

poem: we are writing, we are killing

I wrote an artist but did not give her art, she was lonely waiting by windows for bluer skies but dying in her head, re-castling to save me: the other girl, the one writing her. we were in hell together, the mafia maniac pixie dream boy blowing her kisses from the burning room, the emo… Continue reading poem: we are writing, we are killing

poem: confessions of a teenage elitist

i like being misunderstood. but i am not that complicated: i think am better than you because i think about grand things in the shower and you only stare and smile, your eyes drained out, your mind running clear and fast and going nowhere. i have various complexes: childhood trauma, childhood poverty, childhood isolation. i… Continue reading poem: confessions of a teenage elitist