Oh Great Sea of Wonder

what have you got for me down there?

I swam in your arms for fifty days
and you did not bring me home to where

the mermaids live.

I took your punches, throw them harder!

My ribs have not yet been broken.

To the fish, oh the fish so full of broken promises

made by you only to be eaten by you

like an ant I march on and like an ant I have

given up my freedom — given it up to you

Oh Great Sea of Wonder
why will you not have me?

It’s true I once wished upon stars

but those are long dead and I wish now

to hear the hum of your belly, only the hum

and to sing into salt so that it doesn’t make
a noise.

I have grown out my hair for you!
I do not have feet anymore and my
lungs have been filled with water. Why

will you not stretch out your hands for me?
I only want to slip through the cracks
of your skin.

I only want to go home to where the
mermaids live.

I’m not allowed

August 30, 2013

In the back of my eyelids there is a lake from my past.
I am no longer allowed to swim in this lake. Someone
put up a sign reading You’re Not Allowed and it’s talking
to me. The murky yellow water has always accepted me
before, always scrubbed off my flaws with its soft hands,
laying me in wet sand underneath its sheets. Why does it
forsake me now, when I am at my faultiest? The question
drove me mad for some time and I’m certain I looked
quite loony to my neighbors. I laid in mud and killed those
tiny flies that come with mud, dressing my skin in miniature
carcasses. I closed my eyes and returned to the lake. Will
you accept me now? But the sign was still up and it seemed
to have grown larger, thicker, as if I intended to punch it
down. I wept for days and finally bathed in my own tub,
but the clear water wouldn’t clean off my mistakes and I
wept some more.


August 28, 2013

I’m eating saltines because the mouth of my stomach
shows razor-sharp teeth when it doesn’t get what it wants
but I don’t think I want it to get what it wants anymore.

Fucking insecurities and then the drooling razor mouth
of my belly. This is what he wanted, the man who is taking
it away from me, the man who fed it to me. Even now my
control is a falsity and I know it, going through motions until
I decide to take a long break. He always watches me as I fall
through the rabbit hole.

These saltines taste like those crackers given out at church
except they are not blessed, they are foul, and the taste
reminds me of why I am eating them and I am just as ugly
as this goddamn saltine which holds no flavor and which my
tummy tells me is just another motion but sometimes all we have
are motions.

My hallucination usually leads me to a forest and then to Alice
and her magic pills and then darkness and always rather quickly.
I instantly regret confrontations with her because she tricks me
into thinking miracles can happen but miracles are just her magic
gypsy pills playing tricks on me and these saltines are fucking gross.

I will be the rat. I will go through the motions and I will be the rat.
I will find myself in an animal-testing lab.
They are testing new pills. I will drink the tube of water.
I will gladly spend my days running in circles.

Your Mom Sucks

August 23, 2013

Your mom sucks the way that old ladies do
when they spit all over your face just to wipe off
a speck of dirt that probably isn’t even there.

Your mom sucks the way that decrepit teachers do
when they lean over your shoulder to tell you how much
work they know you aren’t doing.

She is a lady of small talk; oh how are you? I am good,
thanks, how are you? Oh boy, to get her to speak her mind!
Though profound words would not be heard, at least something
with feeling – give me something with that!

Her food needs salt and she needs spice. I imagine eating her would
taste rough and she would need excessive condiments. Your mom
might taste good dipped in ketchup and doused with salt but she would
sit in my stomach and refuse to come out because she will be too busy
telling my insides everything they are doing wrong. Pump that blood
faster! You’re going to make a big mess!

Your mom sucks the way a woman who can’t sing screams high-pitched
lullabies to a newborn baby. She sucks the way menstrual cycles make my
muscles strain and my feet weak.
Your mom is a silent judge in a courtroom called life
and the verdict is always GUILTY.

Your mom is an itch I can’t scratch, she is a rabid raccoon
running nowhere fast in the middle of the day when she should
only come out at night.

Your mother has a broken wing. She broke it herself.

Your mom sucks.

where my truth sleeps

August 21, 2013

Revelations come and go like the seasons,
the haircuts, the jobs, the men, and always
with a hint of daydream and all too much reality
I am the one left kneeling, left puking in a dirty garbage
can. I am the one left lying dizzy on the dirt; I am
the one wishing on the moon at night. Revelations
never seem to last with me, like philosophies and
preferences, they resonate just enough for a poem
and then they are gone and I am off to bury myself
in more lessons and more dreams and oh the anxiety!


I would like to be a singing fish – I would surely sing
the most beautiful songs and only at night and only
into the black ocean so that the bottom of the earth will
hear my falsetto, brilliant and shining into the darkness.


Never a constant moment, always changing, always all
we have – the fingertips of a gentle woman scratching my
back so that they leave pink vertical lines until morning —
then they have faded, and my back hurts once more.


At the end of the universe there is a whole hole, a holy
whole hole and it is filled with truths. I sometimes don’t
believe in truths but this holy whole hole must be true
because where do my revelations go if not into that
blackness — or is it grey? I picture this whole to have a
mouth and it smiles like Mona Lisa so that nobody is quite
sure what it is up to but it is  beautiful isn’t it?


Far away is where the tippiest truths lay. Far away buried
in a never-ending grey whole — or is it black? Far away,
nestled among the dead stars that have burned out so many
years ago but that the children wish on because how lovely,
how dreamy is such a star that glows long after its death?

tap tap tap goes the dancing ghost late at night
in my bedroom when I should be sleeping and
instead I am wondering if this ghost is just in my
head or if it is real? And then, what makes a ghost
real anyway? If only the five senses can grasp an idea
of a reality beyond its own realm of value but I cannot
grasp that idea and it is no fault of mine but of the skin
that I call mine. tap tap tap. Every creek only happens
when the light is off, or when the light is on the noise is
smaller. If I can define the word I think I might consider it
a part of me and then the ghost is real or at least as real
as me and I am the only one in this room and yet the creeks,
the eeeeks, only come louder and more often when I start
to fall asleep or when my door is closed tight. If by chance it
is not me it must want to feel my skin. If by truth it is me, well
then I do not know myself well at all, do not listen to my own
wishes, do not humor myself with bed time stories though I
do enjoy them so and would love a good read. Tap tap tap. She
is a ballerina and she has grey mushrooms growing from the
roots of her toes and she looks at me with fire growing in
hollowed eyes but I cannot see her. She taps inside of me so that
only I can hear it. Tap tap tap.

What does it matter where your mind lies when the comfort
of our skin is still here? When deep walnut-colored eyes
become darker as I try to swim because they are quick sand
and I knew that when I entered?

I do not care about the future. I do not think about
it when I go to sleep at night. I do not care
about it at all. I do not wonder what will come
of things when we cover each other in compliments
and kisses.

The other day, I remembered I don’t know you. I
used to want to know you but now I know we can
never know anyone and it does not bother me
anymore. I do not think about the future because
there is no future. I let myself bathe in the comfort
of the present because it is it.

You walk around in Princess dresses from your
childhood. You kiss frogs in exchange for tall men
with money and instead you get diseased and sprinkled
with warts. In old age you resemble your evil stepsisters
but you are not a villain, only self-righteous and lonely and

We are not ants. We gather food for ourselves and
we sleep in separate houses. We are not wholly
connected or holy connected or wholly rejected. We
are a string of mangled lies and truth. When we are
hungry, we fight for ourselves. When we are lonely,
we love each other.

Do not pray for me. I skip in green fields with naked
flesh and I bare my soul only to the trees who whisper
nothing back to me but it is just another truth. I am
much like the bugs and the birds and the fish. I kiss frogs
purely to kiss frogs. I wear a torn and muddled dress to
show you what real life looks like.

earth children

August 7, 2013

When you find your nucleus shines through your guts
you might also notice the dirt it is made of and the
face in the middle, constantly blowing wind in circles
through your body, racing the blood which is always
slow and steady and always loses.

Blind is the man who reaches to an almighty
god, as he will never see the power
of his own almighty nucleus.

August 7, 2013

If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck it’s not a goddamn duck but it sure did fool you, didn’t it?

daydreaming in the park

August 6, 2013

From atop grass at the edge of an island I watched clouds slowly float past a clear blue sky. I especially watched the clouds covering the sun, because they showed a few cracks  where light shined through and I thought maybe I can see into heaven. Hoping to get into heaven, I willed my soul to float seamlessly to the top of these clouds. When I pushed through the cracks where the light shined,  it brought me to the very bottom of the ocean. Well then, heaven is the bottom of the ocean and the very top of our world is actually the very bottom of it! When my soul returned to my body it was content to be in the middle of such senselessness, just so long as this grass held me up for now, just for now, because today really is such a beautiful day…