You don’t write to me, so you write through me  

You sound like I wake up in the middle of the night, a somnambulist, who deadwalks to my computer to write. You sound like me bleeding quietly in the dark. You are like me saying everything I am trying so hard to drown inside of me in the day time. Things so profoundly sad and […]

Reading broken, writing drunk: an open letter to Clementine Von Radics

    Your books are maps. This is what I understood. I never went anywhere without a poem lest I lose myself in places where girls like me should not be lost. Places like the cleavage. Or clavicles. Places like love. Or worse – possession. Places like wounds that must be tended to, and places […]

The bottom of less

Twenty-four hours. I have sailed on a raft of emptiness through a vacuum consisting of measured time that swung like a pendulum between endlessness and eternity. I’ve never been to the bottom of the ocean but in my mind I go often. The cool stillness, the deep dark black of the blue. The soundless silence. That ocean is inside me as much as I am inside of it. Here, there are no tears and no sound of crying. Here there is just saltwater and where the ghostly moans of despair go to die.

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