Test Post

Stop. Set tests to top pots,
pets, testes. See? Steep toes step
so poets, pests, spots stoop
to tote tots’ tooooooots.

Playing around.
This is the inverse of the monster I have to wrestle with every night. But slowly, reining it in.


Play: List (or, Why I Never Let The Boys I Love Listen To The Music I Like)

After Marrian Pio Roda Ching



I poured my aching heart into a pop song. I couldn’t get the hang of poetry.

– Suck It And See (Arctic Monkeys)


[Track 01]
The start is the hardest part[1]: I coughed
your name, I smoked
all day[2] – I call your number
but I can’t get through[3].

[Track 02]
It’s the same fucking
habits[4]: watching you turn
from me towards your friends[5].

[Track 03]
You told me you wanted
to eat up my sadness[6]. In a soft-porn version
of the end of the world I quake at the knees
as my intentions unfurl[7]: we’ve got a minefield
of crippled affection[8].

[Track 04]
Here’s to all the pretty words
we will never speak[9]:
“How you gonna keep me
warm?[10]”, “I’m glad
you’re on my side[11].”, “What’s wrong with you
is good for what’s wrong with me.[12]


[Track 01]
We find it hard to deal with
when our dreams come true[13].
But now we must pack up
every piece of the life we used
to love, just to keep

[Track 02]
Oh you can lose yourself
in art, or you can break somebody’s heart
in two[15] – I’ve written pages
upon pages, trying to rid you
from my bones[16]. Medicine clouds
my mind[17]. There’s mercy
when the lies kick in[18].

[Track 03]
You were a truth I would rather lose
than to have never lain beside
at all[19]. I chose to feel it
and you couldn’t choose[20]. I’m sorry
about the phone call and needing you[21].
You chose that moment to say to me
“Has all of your life been this lonely?[22]


He gave her a nice cat.
He saved her a rice cat.
He shaved her an ice hat.
He shoved her a bat.
He showed her a gnat.
He owed her a nut.
He mowed her a nut.
He mowed her, but-
She smoked a butt.
She choked on that.


….I don’t even know what a rice cat is.
Playing around, because Things I Want To Happen aren’t happening. This is better than brewing a shitstorm or throwing a fit. Bah, universe, bah! You’re not going to stop me.

What I notice is not the expansiveness of the sky

but the cloak of clouds, dripping gray
welcoming my day. I enjoy our conversations, the way you look

at me, yes –

shy eyes, sly             eyes, fox
eyes             on the slant of my neck, but dear,

did you really have to send me

all those letters? You knew
how letters were never fond of me. I find them

in tin boxes, neatly stacked together, snuffing             their voices
silent.                                                 I’m sorry, what were you

saying? You know how much I love                         speaking
of sadness. These gray clouds brimming wet, ready

to douse us clean.

Room Cleaning, May 2010

Flashlights, old lighter, ink
and pens, photographs (me aged seven, teeth
hidden; old friend who went

away to Ireland, grandmother with her parents
and brother, unknown date; my father
with his father and brother – ) expired

passports (my grandparents’), sequins, toys, sun-
glasses (plain, shaded, pink), bottles, paper (yellowed,
thinning), old letters, notes to self, unopened

envelope (sealed), a deck of cards, flower
brooches made of cloth, greeting
card with dry scotch tape, clipped

paper money, paperclips, hair-
pins, torn piece of birthday wrapper, beads
and faux pearls on a thin wire, unused

movie tickets, journals, empty
containers, bouncing
balls and jack stones, dusty

picture frames without faces –

I really am cleaning my room. Couldn’t help it. Those are most of the stuff I found. Dusty hands are dusty.