Entries 15

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i. My lover is sick and it has finally sunk in that we may be writing a sonnet and not a tome There may be less words in our piece, but I am lockjaw determined that every single one will be u...

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EVERY SINGLE DAY Your nest gets knocked down by the landlord’s children with one hasty swipe of their straw bear claw Leaving the remnants of a party on the porch floor streamers of trash and h...

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GROWING UP WITH ABUSE PRESENT IN THE HOUSE is like being given a gun to defend yourself but the chambers are loaded with nothing but I’m sorries where the bullets should be

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LIFE: NOW WITH EVEN MORE WAYS TO BREAK YOUR HEART (For R. For K.) Even though she has already moved out, the light on her side of the couch where she used to read at night, is still named after...

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Went to your grave to spit on it but the wind had other plans Before it could hit its granite target, it blew the gob back in my face After all the drinking, razor games, the parade of motley m...

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i. You push me up against the door, and fumble with your pants Even though the heat is unmerciful in the room, my teeth chatter in fear I hate that this is what they’ve chosen to do instead of b...

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I use the word love so much in our texts that my phone has started to slip the word into places that it doesn’t belong, but that are similarly spelled. Did you used to love there? She loves in ...

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Stone Temple Pilots is playing here next month Their song Interstate Love Song used to mean something to both of us I desperately want to call you and invite you to go see them But Scott Weiland...

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On March 26, Alex will have been dead 2 years already. It seems impossible that it’s been that long–yet in other ways, it feels like he’s been dead for much longer. I guess, in a way, he was dea...

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I keep dreaming about a bull in New York City- you are also there, still alive. We are trying to recreate that trip we took to NYC some years back from a time when you still loved me and wanted ...

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This is a rewrite of an old poem. SESSION Q. What are the colors? A: Swipes of your green plaid flannel– like comet tails trailing across the white of my tank top. Red as brilliant as a scarle...

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Seymour Glass was scarred by touching things he loved a lemon-yellow blemish left on his hand from the hem of his first love’s dress that he grabbed as she ran by A precious pink pockmark from t...

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All I have to show is affection so small in the face of what I feel that it’s more like a growth on something than an actual something itself A spore on the frond of a fiddlehead fern A freckle ...

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(For KM) Drunk and holding onto it, after seeing a picture of you & your vanilla girl. Hard to imagine her saying anything unscripted or ever having need for a diary. So that’s what you wer...

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“’It tastes like liquorice,’ the girl said and put the glass down. ‘That’s the way with everything.’ ‘Yes,’ said the girl. ‘Everything tastes of liquorice. Especially all the things you’ve waite...

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