and 1

down on the farm

hadley, ma

I.
my dreams are a polished piece of beach glass;
they inhabit the house in which i was born.
usually, the house is a third story flat
above a dangerous intersection in providence,
a city south of the caucasus,
but east of the kuban river.

at times, the floors are an arctic tundra
at others, a sun-bleached boardwalk.
sometimes when beach grass grows from the floor boards,
i pick mussels from the shallows
and eat only what i scavenge.

sometimes i murder the big fish,
weaving rigs with lead sinkers
or hooking herring by the spine.

i was born this way,
and i know exactly what i'm doing.


II.
i am a polished piece of beach glass
and i like you only when submissive;
you're too nervous and wild to run,
falling frequently at the gate.
if only you could see the inside rail,
the polished beach glass on the shore.

when i was born, my mother-
herself a polished piece of beach glass,
crouched amongst the reeds and listened
for the sounds of an accident below.

i was not an accident.
i was ready to be born.
when my edges were jagged,
my mother rubbed me
between her thumb and forefinger
so that i'd be polished too.

this is how i was made,
and i know exactly what i'm doing.

microeconomics

you've made this into a zero-sum game,
but i'm a pure public good, baby.

spirit animal

celluar decay

Always hold the door for women. People attribute this to good breeding, but i've just learned never to turn my back on a dangerous animal. More than death I fear growing old and still fearing death. Death is more palatable with beauty. Today I held the door for a balding woman, her roots graying at the part."She looks like hell," I thought, and watched her dreams replicate and die. In youth love is eternal, but it won't survive old age. Will you still be beautiful? I count the days until your cells decay.

ice-cream sandwich

café

why do you always look so stupid?