Winter is when we come undone or something is in retrograde or
hi, it’s me again,
if you turn off your location, how will I find you?
do you not want to be found or are you creating mystery?
if mystery is meant to draw us in,
why am I all the way over here?
when did we get older?
where is my mouth?
do you ever think about how weird it is that everyone was a baby?
what lie were you taught in school that’s caused the most harm?
is there sound in space or not?
can you monetize the things you love?
why is everything so expensive?
why is it so hard for people to do good people? i mean the right thing.
do you think my poems are bad poems? sometimes i think my poems are bad poems. is it really good to be bad? or is it mostly disappointing for yourself and also others? why are poems always licking things clean? talking about clavicle this and tender that? my poems are guilty of all of this and much more. i’m looking for new ways to say the old ways are fucked. everyone’s already moved on.
i’m still here lol.
i’ll be ruminating until
Are you ready to talk about how we’re made of micro plastics?
Yes it’s true, my placenta was part plastic which