The Rainforest is Burning

Down south, the trees are burning–Our jungle symbols.And we, with so little left of animal within us,can’t see through the smoke.Cats, monkeys, snakes,our origins and enemies,bible and biology,alike in homelessness.We’ve long since lost our sense of connection–trees to shelter–But when it rains,we seek the comfort of canopy. Who shelters the rainforest when it burns?No canopy…

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Day 1: Take Your Time

I’ve always felt that journaling is useless. If you can’t remember it, is it really worth remembering? What’s the point of writing down the minutiae of your little life? Write about politics. Write about art. Write poems with form, songs with meter changes, research papers. Don’t write about yourself. It’s so…self absorbed. It’s so…personal. Who…

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I Dream of Airplanes

Most nights, I dream of airplanes. Last night, I dreamt of one flying low, narrowly missing my childhood home, ripping the neighbors’ houses in half. No one was hurt. No one was home to see their homes cleft by this errant machine. They would arrive home later, tired from work, to see their roofs torn…

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movies

Some nights I wakeat midnight and can’t feel myself.I don’t know where my breath stems or where it ends.For hours, this way:Huffing, puffing, sighing,Flitting in and out of dreams of plane crashes–Where, dancing in my mind’s eyeis some kind of senseless tragedyEvery night.The only kind of movie my brain makes–The kind that leaves meFull of…

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stamped out

I leave a trail of insect corpseson scratched floors–the bodies of innocents.I knew how innocent they werewhen they invaded my space,but some deep aggression in mepressed me to kill them,crush their little stink bug bodiesagainst books, jars, teaspoons.I often wonder if there is a murdererinside of all of us.I am a bug murdererbecause they make…

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That’s My Band. And We’re Fucking Awesome.

We played to a giant, empty room last night, where great pillars of wood swallowed up the sounds of four hands clapping. It’s not an easy thing, this music business, but you keep on doing it–watching the crowd thin out, telling yourself you’ll play for the love of it and sing for the heart of…

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Paris, je t’aime

For ten days and nine nights we have wandered Paris streets, smelling cheese, pastries, piss, sausages, flowers, falafel; hearing French babies giggle with glee while their mothers wiped cream from their faces; scanning menus; stopping for wine while waiting for the rain to pass; searching out chocolate, and art, and music; drinking in afternoons and…

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The Thong

I was 28 years old when I bought my first thong.  Thongs aren’t made for fat girls, said my brain to me, said commercials to my brain, said porn to my ex lovers. Thongs are made to rest between smooth, firm ass cheeks that fit in the palm of a man’s hand. Thongs are not made…

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