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awkward gifts

it's
like a book about sex
and
how to do it right
cause you seemed like
you wanted help?
am i right?
oh
now it's awkward
huh
just like return it or
throw it away
but
just like
be environmentally friendly about it
okay?
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Posted by nah

DYING HAPPY

the loopy walk home
is worth the void
that follows sweetness
of plan-less giants
skip stumbling through
a playground graveyard
blinking at the sleeping city
from the stillness of
the hill



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Posted by

Made up


The sun squares my ascendant
But you don’t want to hear about it
If I hide under the covers
How long til you come look for me?
My moon opposes the midheaven
Your mom won’t tell me what time you were born
So I can’t know you
Let’s leave well enough alone
I’ll have my own room
A web of fabrics coffee cups
My heart is scraps and candy wrappers
I come from junk
To junk I will return
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Posted by

Sweets

When I found out my dad died
I bought a pack of stale fraise tagada
From a kiosk in Ermopoulis town square
I had no appetite
So they remained unopened
They remain unopened still
Sitting on my kitchen island
What do you do with the bag of candy
You bought when your father died
They are so unappetizing
Stale, unopened, saccharine
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Posted by

Sandbourne

Town and team weren't blinded by
the Hilton on the hill,
the previous one's a YMCA now,
remember, and so thickened scales of ennui.

It was fun to mean something
for a while,
it got me up on Saturdays,
Allison, roused by the second half.

Still, I'm hardly home,
I've stoppped prying
for whatever wasn't there,
there is sadness in validation.

Tom, incredulous that I left,
is fond of coke,
his brother, similarly fond,
speaks of intervention.

And yet then 
their noses ran 
at bad little boy school,
mean witted, hormone high.

I saw Paul at his worst,
yet he never saw mine,
so of course 
he stopped texting.

They're sinking back
into the ground now,
so am I, so is the team
and town.

I never stopped leaving
the kiosk where I worked,
also Beales is in trouble,
the buses come twice an hour.

Home has generalised;
I think of the humming farmhands,
nameless bridges,
red bricks, and the thorns that encroach. 

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