Love Letter

Hey you,

It’s a lie if I said I haven’t been writing. Another lie: as if the previous year in all its shambles meant nothing to me. It has, always, except, as you know prior to our parting: I am surrounded by circumstances that prevent me from completely facing this, the entire story admixed and diluted between all the work needed to be done to pursue an agreeable future. “Keeping going” and “Be strong”, harped sage advice and common sense. And so I did: took whatever was left of this heart and kept sloughing forward – day after day I kept on: each new experience a means to distract and relieve from the last. I changed, mostly from necessity to forgive myself rather than the actual desire to differ. The few friends I kept close immediately took to notice: B, friend since forever the only person to ever pick up at 3am, usually says how I’m living THE life and I’m not really sure what this means; F periodically reminds me to make time for myself; P – Best In Conviction and Moral Compass – threatened to end our friendship if I continued carrying out a toxic endeavor. D I only ever see in conventions or over beer; N took me in her house like a little orphan a few times; M promises to visit but never does; 2 friends got married, another gave birth – T told me one time how you asked about me a few months ago. I don’t suppose we’re still close enough to exchange details of our lives but I remember how you always talked about the risks we take and I suppose I took a few risks here and there – some yielding earthquakes and others collisions: all the same, I am here doing what I set out to do and on some days I suppose I miss you, I miss us – the fulcrum on which I used to think my world once stood – but I miss everything less and less as each day folds into the future.

I hope you are well.




Spot a stain: a trap,
oh those parts torn open
at the nape. Impart ire: aim
the sin at home. Spit
the ear. Hear harm, stare
then stir – his ripe heart
a nest of heat atop a train. Spite
the saint risen in resin. Spin then pine,
parse poems, host those horns
sent on a spine. Set hope
to emit another time:
Oh, Era of Haste:
snare this star, this prism- pith
its sore, sore arms so spent-

It’s impossible to be completely honest, completely happy; therefore slink and sink back into the warm familiarity of being without

Innocence died screaming ♪

Because I was reading Eliot again.
In a minute there is time    
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.  

From The Comprehensive List of Lines Left Out:


I am from the refusals and misdirected musings of past loves. Burnt letters, poems too long, one photograph too many, notebooks filled with theorems and equations that flew further than their predicted trajectories.

in exchange for both my eyes. The continents went dancing
while we were out. Submarines were invented

We constructed ways to ease everything in – the world of the body built on knowable signs: blood smears lit with starry skies under the microscope, currant jelly stools, apple core lesions; bird’s beaks, footballs, ground glass lodged in your lungs, steeples reaching to the sky of your throat, stepladders rising from bowels – all answers hailed by the advent of radiation: a world bathed in black, white, and gray. The body’s topography mapped in entire by density and ingested dyes.

They said: Write. Make dying
beautiful. Someone else said: Stop.
As a reflex I let my fingers search the cold wrist
for a pulse, but felt only the pounding
of my own, feeble heart.

Revising some pieces. Here are some things I cut out, from various bits of text.

What you’ve been waiting for –

The alluring anachronism split into pure atoms, an arrangement you can almost taste, the arsonist asking for absolution;

Belched out ballads badly resonating with bulls in china shops and besieged belladonnas, balustrades broken into bits by blue balls of light;

The chosen moment that spelled perfection and catastrophe, clicking the correct button a centisecond too late, clasping your clammy hands on hers, taking a careless chance;

The damned; demons draped in delight and Double Dutch ice cream donning dragon-shaped diamonds;

Elephants, eggplants, epiphanies evading re-entry into Eden;

In the far future finding the fault lines following a flock of flightless fates; feigning fascination and friendship in funerals; fucking and feeling fervently free; Furies fired up on fairy dust, felt-tip pens, and fireworks;

The giant that gobbled gold and in its gastrointestinal tract generated gods and gentlemen alike;

“Hi, hello, how, and who are you doing?” harked the heart attack hailing from happiness;

Once inside, she felt all of his intent: imminent, impeccable, as if invincible to her ills – inviting;

“Just joking” jested the juvenile juggernaut;

Kicking the knickknack into the Kraken’s kitchen, kneading kings kindly, keeling for kisses and kills;

The lover lying listlessly listening to limericks and lies, licking her lips;

Midway, he made the moon melt mint and mellow, Mercury moping a mile off, mesoderm mistaking marrow for more; maimed and well-meant, maelstrom or minotaur- make your mind up, mother;

Never needing nobody; no names necessary;

Onwards: the only way out;

Pretenses paltry and promising; put it in Promises and Pink; procure these precious perversions, pretty please?

Quietly the quack doctor quickened; qualms, quills, and questions all quarelling;

Resisting respite and reason, she rose and reached for the risk ringed on his ribs

Strung-up strawberries straining for something to see; starlight secured inside sea-stained bottles; seeds speaking of Soon and Somehow;

The taste of trouble; those terrible tricks they trust;

Underwater, they undertook what was undue, unsaid;

“Very well,” voiced the violet violin vying for velvet violence; vicious vapors in vials; valkyries and vanishing points;

Wondering how to wander; waking wayward wights and wishing wells;

XXX seemed to express xenophobia; the sighing xylophone shrouded in xenon;

When yielding meant Yes, your yearning like a yawn or a yellow ball of yarn;

Zeal in a zoo.

When I am hungry and procrastinating, I curl into a useless pile of catalogs & the alphabet. Then I get exhausted & lie down. Real work only gets done some good 2 hours later when I am Super Charged on sugar. *rolls away*

Miss An Thrope

The truth was most people tired her. The rhythms of getting acquainted felt like being in a Street Fighter match where her fingers were dipped in butter and couldn’t hit the right buttons to unleash a single chain attack.

“Good morning” marked Round 1. By the end of the day, she felt like she’d been KO’d a hundred lifetimes that none of the phoenix downs available to mankind (or elf-kind) would revive her negative-digit HP.


Laughter and/or pretensions of looking into space, watching Dust Mites conjure colonies, seemed to be a temporary solution.

Speaking of strange things also do well at wearing out the other people’s interest.


“That doesn’t make sense. You’re loud and brimming with color. How can you possibly not like people?” Said friend N.


Her Experience Points gained placed her in the quadrant where Disappointment and Honesty intersected. It wasn’t a convenient place to be in. But she was used to inconvenient situations. Anyway, she had high points for Evasion and Strength. Defenses were weak, but that was another thing she was used to already.


In this version of the universe, there is no Game Over, there is no reset button. The level never ends, regardless of the side quests completed, the treasure chests opened – hordes of secret weapons piled in a corner, gleaming with disuse.

Do I dare?

I can’t say the words, so I wrote you into my verse. – Poet; Bastille

There was a point I foolishly picked you to partake in a wondrous thing now past, passed over so easily. Like plates, piled in the sink after all the guests have left, leaving us with nothing but the air to fill the spaces we emptied out for each other: blind but blinking; massive crates and caves even light refuses to enter.

Congratulations, you’re the first one in a long time to leave me with the words still floating in my mouth.