News and Thoughts...

July 18, 2019


These months,


These meds,

not right.

These thoughts,


These insomnias,


These mornings,

            unable to,


July 1, 2019


A drink in my hand is

Cold Comfort

Compared to your ghost.

I think I see you.

Wolf Eyes.

Paralyzing me in a flash.

You flick my nose.

Cold Water,

A cologne like ocean.

I follow your scent like a

Wolf in Heat

Breathing to lick you.

Every drop of you across from me:

Cold Sweat


July 1, 2019


Motherfucker with a hypodermic needle,

Buzzing on the other line: “You mind?
I got a sixty-micron dick to click the skin
And I come in unprotected. No net for us.

Suckin’ you off ‘til you unclot yourself.
Cough up my donut tapioca, drizzled in syrup.

When my sweet a...

July 1, 2019


One egg dredged into the pan,

A drip of you, olive and oil,

Singed into my skin.

I could let this unborn child
Fry into a dusted disappointment

But I won’t. I know you like it.

over easy.

Scuff a little off the bottom,

Careful not to break the yolk

and bleed it burn...

June 15, 2019

I woke up wanting,

Being inside you.

I only found your ghost.

So I sexed the sheets,

Hexing the air with you.

You answered in rustles.

I pulled your pillowhead,

Billowing breaths into you.

I heard a bellow.

So I rained a million arrows,

Quivering inside you.

But I could not wake...

April 7, 2019

I leave San Francisco today. And it’s tough. I can feel how irritable my bowels are becoming, preparing for patients’ medication requests to see a doctor, get their eyes examined, get their refills - everything now, now, now, with no structure to really accommodate the...

March 18, 2019

i am learning not to hate myself.

when i’m welcomed with wanting eyes

unwanting silence,

when i lay naked in my unmade bed

with a ballad meant for no one,

when i want to chug windex instead of

smudging me in the mirror,

i am learning not to hate myself.

when i binge for beauty...

March 13, 2019

He curls at the sight: His world
     ripped away from him
     like a fresh hide.

Every memory a land mine; every
      outstretched limb in bed
      a phantom stab in the dark.

Once faeries and cuddlebears,
     now silence and...

February 9, 2019

Struck by a dawn’s assassin:

Spasms in my stomach.

Blunting breath after breath.

A hive of goosebumps roosting

     in my skin.

I dreamed my mother appeared,

Front and center in my queer show.

Her disdain, bitter to a tea,

Turning kidney stones to sediment.


February 9, 2019

It’s hard to encapsulate the techniques of maestra playwright Maria Irene Fornés without being guided in a room through her meditations. And I don’t claim to be an expert on every method she utilized to encourage her playwrights to explore and dig deep. But the best I...

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