day 20

hookers in Tijuana
charge forty dollars
twenty goes to them
nineteen goes to their

one dollar is for
the boy who cleans
the room

the girls wear long
hoops of odd colored
gold, some dangle
fake turquoise from
their plunging

some line up at
this small taco
stand that sells
broth for fifty cents
from styrofoam cups

I wonder if they know
styrofoam lasts

but I image they do
I imagine they know
of most things
that last

day 19

they say girls
are worth more
than boys

girls are treasure
boxes, covered
in silver, gold

girls are wrapped
like birthday
gifts, head to

only the eyes
show, only
the red or

girls are told
to hush hush

save those precious
vowels, save those
pursed lips
those singing

save those legs
long and short
formed as trees
are formed

save those faces
dark and light
each different
each the same

such beauty
is hidden
candles snuffed
so the brightness
doesn’t frighten

they say girls
are worth more
than boys

this must be
why, they
sell so

day 18

the objects
to follow

a girl-
a boy-
high school right?
his friends ask

high school-
where he’d made
the frog twitch
she screamed-
so loud
of apology

a smile
as gold

now the ring
blue stones

she hates-
they’re covered
in blood

on his knees
every muscle
what was the message?

Will you?
Will you?


Day 17

Love story







Day 16

my brain is a
wet sticky mass
like thick mud wrapped grass
I can’t process
the eye or e or c

distantly, I watch
myself talk and move
talk and move
smile, you should
smile here

can I manage that?
a smile?
should I practice
in the mirror

like a shark
or a card sharp
or a used car salesman
none seem to fit

the frown stays a while
plays around with up
up up never quite
reaching the zenith

my smile is climbing
a mountain, tall and cold
my smile has no safety
line, no soul to hang
on to

my smile does not come
and go when you say
you should smile more

no. really

day 15

dear mermaids

I don’t get
why you eat

people are full
of horrible

cancerous throbbing
fat cells and hardened

lungs full of air
thick and fibrous
black fog and smoke

skin like broken
christmas paper
wrapping, all
metal tasting

you should try
chow mein or
pasta or even

I hear it
tastes just
like the sea

day 14

Me and the man in the box

I have
with you now

I tell you
about my dreams
the ones where
chairs chase me
where webs take
my arms
holding them tight

they say time is
short, I don’t
think it is
I had plenty
of time

time to visit you
in that steel
bent bed
time to talk
to your empty

you were gone
long before
you were gone

I wanted to see you
one last time
wanted to see
your face

they’ve closed
the box, put
a picture of
you on top

I can only
reach inside
with my voice

I can only
not for time
being short
not for old
arguments, old

I can only

I can only

day 13

riddle poem


I have been
given a name
two syllables,
not one

those stories
all say I want I want I want
what I want
is not what I am

I am one
have one
will always be one
unless you count
the second

is it all about
I’m sure yes,
I’m sure

there are no
in my true story
no virgin white
no tender hand

is it all about
I’m sure yes,
I’m sure

day 12

two ears
both black
sometimes hang down
never up

tail like a spring
twisted on itself

goggles for eyes
never blink
too close

if you close your eyes
you hear the sounds
of monsters, wicked
forest creatures
in his breath

stand far away
to see the rolls of flesh
like the counter of a bakery
flush full of goods
in the morning rush

day 11

my eyes are closed
stiff like
a body on television

I should rise up
stumble towards the
cracked inside of myself
those pieces in the distance

have only been buried
just so
I can still see them