poem: letter to myself

the only thing I could imagine piercing me todayis the long cat-vomit pink, stretch, of sky -- and after driving home, the awareness of the earth that would notaccept or come into me, the places I will not go because they are outside, and I cannot? cannot! leave this bedroom, the walls bent in and…

update: new blog icons! new era! autumn!

hello all! two things of note -- 1.) new blog icons because I felt the trees & fog were getting old. au revoir, also, to the site icon I made two years ago (pre-covid, even) at about four a.m. in the abandoned humanities department, third floor, the modern foreign languages department. I edited the black…

poem: september mental illness

is it fall? —outside the madhouse windows?i have not showeredin three days, but i would liketo let the air cut me, the trees loose — danse —the new and old risingtogether: foreign dramasin dead worlds, patchinggardens, spirits in oldbooks, old spells —the split apple on my lip,wet like sex,dark and strange like innocence. i would like —to wash myself…