I like to be sad. I cherish the sincerity of it, the privacy & otherness. Silent grief is a pain I trust; it is a trunk I carry on my travels, filled with memory and longing, filled with the last remnants of loves and voices long since turned to silent dust. Sorrows are the lost treasures of my fallen empires, the ruins of my forgotten histories. For me, to grieve is to touch again some lost, bright joy--sometimes the only joy I know. Grieve, and be alive; do not numbly die.
Saturday, October 16
Monday, October 4
specific monsters
we are specific monsters
to those we choose, otherwise
charming, magnificent, gracious
human beings, laughing & kind.
or however else we think ourselves;
and when we cast off these thoughts
letting some specific person have us:
the real monster underneath:
then intimacy couples with hate,
for why else would i ever be so cruel
as to let you meet me thus?
we choose our victims carefully
from those we love the most--
here, beloved, now witness me
and i will be a monster to you.
October 2021
Thursday, September 30
Somewhere in the middle

The subway stops
somewhere in the middle
we dismount in the dark
feeling our way along
in a world between worlds
—we were never meant to be here.
But here we dwell, now
in caves of our own design
we light fires, hang blankets,
write on the walls, find water
make this disaster Home,
these strangers Family,
these habits Life—but what if
one day, the lights scream back to life?
What would we do? We cannot go back
but to stay would be a farse.
So we wait like anxious beasts
for the telltale roar and rush,
for the subway carried on its path
leaving us scrambling behind
trying to catch a life
that passed us by.
In time, we think less of this.
We were never meant to be here;
but slowly, we forget it’s so
and shape ourselves to fit
the world between worlds.
somewhere in the middle
we dismount in the dark
feeling our way along
in a world between worlds
—we were never meant to be here.
But here we dwell, now
in caves of our own design
we light fires, hang blankets,
write on the walls, find water
make this disaster Home,
these strangers Family,
these habits Life—but what if
one day, the lights scream back to life?
What would we do? We cannot go back
but to stay would be a farse.
So we wait like anxious beasts
for the telltale roar and rush,
for the subway carried on its path
leaving us scrambling behind
trying to catch a life
that passed us by.
In time, we think less of this.
We were never meant to be here;
but slowly, we forget it’s so
and shape ourselves to fit
the world between worlds.
September 2021
Friday, September 17
Deserts

Somewhere on Google maps
in a desert, a pinprick in the sand ocean;
western China, I think—
weird beauty waits for satellites.
If I were there, in person
I’d probably be cold & thirsty
wishing someone had paved a road,
grumbling. But here: aloft, peering down
like some homesick cloud,
I see the pretty desert moguls
kept hidden from mankind, until
they invented cameras, and spacecraft,
internet connections, and late nights
full of nothing to do but find you
sitting still, invisible to those nearest by,
a secret majesty on the Earth.
September 2021
Friday, August 6
no need
i don't have to be this way
whatever this is
whatever i am
i and this could be
or not be anything
but we don't have to.
we choose.
August 2021
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