WE ARE NOT ALONE BUT ALSO NOT ALL THAT TOGETHER

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My long-awaited (you know, by me) chapbook is available to order from Dancing Girl Press now! Give them your money. They rule beyond belief.Assassin Beach  Tastes like hot pink — the clink of jade in oil can. What I’m seeing when I’m not seeing good: anaconda seaweed, slurping up the U-boats. Assassin beach — uneven tans. Black on sticky cream. Goes like this: they cat-slink off the dock, all leg, into my leg, crawling ricey bullets up the calf. How can you not feel that? The chunkiness — must be a spoon — military issue — to stir a clot. Pour it over toast back on the boat, with friends. They made the jade go pile itself — I swear it — into strawberry milk.

My long-awaited (you know, by me) chapbook is available to order from Dancing Girl Press now! Give them your money. They rule beyond belief.

Assassin Beach

Tastes like hot pink — the clink of jade in oil can.

What I’m seeing when I’m not seeing good: anaconda
seaweed, slurping up the U-boats.

Assassin beach — uneven tans. Black on sticky cream.

Goes like this: they cat-slink off the dock, all leg, into my leg,
crawling ricey bullets up the calf. How can you not feel that?

The chunkiness — must be a spoon — military issue — to stir
a clot. Pour it over toast back on the boat, with friends. They

made the jade go pile itself — I swear it — into strawberry milk.

1. I’m still here.

2. I fully intend to start updating this thing again.

3. I say that about a lot of things.

4. But then I just watch 28 back-to-back episodes of Hotel Impossible.

5. I made another record and you can pre-order it here.

6. Here’s an outtake from the photos for said record because Tumblr:



7. I’m working on a full-length poetry collection.

8. I’m leaving for Spain in a couple weeks.

9. I mean, have you seen Hotel Impossible? Anthony Melchiorri is a boss.

LET YOU NO

(From No One Here Lives Here | Forthcoming 2013)

Telling you a story means erecting
walls between us being and un-being.
Don’t ruminate — just say it:

the idea of me is chesty breathing,
not an idea, not like ruby — like lucky
to be feeling — unlucky to be shaped

like feeling.

I’m distracting:

me and gold-washed sofa, me the cipher.
Me the re-portrayal, playing make-believe
in public spaces.