i love you more than that train car
& the things you made me feel in it
made me feel like the train car
(stained by clay/spring heat)
(filled with abandoned wasps’
nests you filled with cigarette
breath til it dripped out like
spit down your pretty mouth)
(like some day a couple o’
kids might just fall in love
within my red rotting wood,
their hands not touching but
held somehow–i remember
something in a science class
about how we’re all always
touching if you think about
the body as a magnet &
since i’ve met you i’ve been
thinking about my body as
one of those little wooden
train cars with the magnets
on either end & you as a
train car with a magnet on
both ends & my heart’s a
little kid with hands that
keep pushing us together
somewhere behind or
beyond the tracks, beyond
the smoke)

I wrote that, I wrote the baby part and I don’t know why
It felt kind of butch, it felt like putting all my fingers in
your mouth, it felt like penetration

you can skim-read me, don’t worry
I say I love you like it’s water, like I
would die in three days without

Having a cat, used to talking
to myself, there is a limit
on how much catastrophe
we can handle. 34 left
at the nursing home to die
fell on the bad side.
Since when are we satisfied
with a slow gouge without
resolution and revelation
of the emotion at play?
There was a time when she
cranked up the category, as if
to say, Hey this is what a body
looks like turned inside out!
(I am talking to myself again)
I reconcile that slush-thrower
peeling back the city’s onion-
strata with no space for grave-
yards to stack bodies in layers.
I’ve made sandwiches before,
all the while talking to my cat,
waiting for its backtalk.

I tried on a dress
at Zara.

I took a selfie of my
spaciousness

inside
Of It.

I didn’t buy it.
Even though I wanted to.

Even though I
had the Power to.

but I wanted to
Buy It.







Rage, rage
against your
inner capitalism.

Rage, rage
deep in the fist
of your Softness.







Spotify is trying to get me
to listen to my ex’s music.

And I’m all like
‘Only

if the songs are all about
how amazing I am’.

But really I’m just like ‘nah’.

I don’t listen.
even though I want to.

Even though I
have the power to.

But I do want to
Hear.







I feel Real
waiting for the metro

with other real people.

How do you do it?
I think at them.

How are you so good
at being a human?

In the Loft
people are doing stuff.

Casually asking for money
without having done anything.

I feel real
but imaginary as well
somehow.

I feel shy about
reciprocating this Feeling

I haven’t let out
Yet.