today was bland

i need sugar to live.

this is not a tenuous need
that in my typical american haste
i gush loudly about to those nearby
“oh my gosh, i need sugar”

i really need sugar, don’t you see?

i’m made of skin and sex drive
and sharp angles of emotion
i have fire in my eyes and sugar in my veins
it says it all right there: blood sugar

this is not a test.

fill the rivers with hawaiian punch and caramel syrup
stack high the boxes of pancake mix and brownie powder
line basket after basket with warm banana breads
stuff my thighs with strawberries; pump the lemonade intravenously

i want it now!

i am more than what i eat
and i am more than what
my mouth goes wet for
but i need sugar to live

i won’t say it again.


thanksgiving break

home is where
the ghosts come out at night
and where teen dreams go to die
in the secrecy of night you came to my window
the flames of our youth burning secretly
we stayed up all night and slept all day
we chased the sunsets way out west
away from the city and out to the farms
you must have known it would go that way
that i would go west to stay someday

the waves of the west washed my heart
made me clean
gave me joy
gave me a fresh start
of course i still remember
oh i remember

oh friend
i see your eyes in the back of my head
and i see our love in the stoplight red
who do you think you are?
with my windows rolled down in march
i am free as the howling wind
up the coast and down again
the coast, the beach, but never east
at least, not often enough for us each

but would you do it?
would you leave?
would you go?
how would you know?
you blame me for leaving home
and the strangeness that i sowed
forget it though
forget it though
i’m just another thing that grows

oh friend
don’t you see?
the way you’ve stayed with me?
if you ever bring up that crabapple tree
i might melt and then where will we be?
i know you keep a tab of all the
things i say
and i keep a box
of all the shit you toss my way
and i know one day
i will sell it or throw it away

but for now be well and do good work
and i’ll see you at thanksgiving break

Room 21, Anson Motor Inn

we rolled into town
on the edge of dusk
wallets bursting with cash
cash for everything.

six weeks in room 21,
now the cleaning ladies
call you dulzura through winks and smiles.
you answer
when you’re capable of speaking.

we leave for provisions,
following the trail through the grass
stepping in our bootprints again and again.
you fill your bag with chocolate
and i fill mine with soda.
it’s never enough sugar,
never enough;
we always go back for more.

you take pills
and fall asleep on the bed.
your fingers fall asleep
reaching for my head.
we sleep with the lights on every night
so the darkness stays away
and to trick ourselves into thinking
it’s a different time of day.

our items become weapons of fear,
empty bottles and pizza receipts,
yawning in and out of our dreams,
and the pile of bugs by the television
that you arrange by genus
then species
then you arrange by color
and then by wing size
and then one night you scoop them all up
and throw them into the wind
so they can fly one last time, at least.

we fill up the empty space with plans about places
and rich words, and convincing statements about the future.
we compose odes to towns without highways
and we do this into the night
every night
and somehow we’re healing
one town at a time.

original poetry ebook: “one long season of wanting”


I wrote a poetry chapbook in Spring 2013 for a college poetry class. It was very bad. I sat on it for four years and then started editing it again. It was still bad, but I published it on Amazon. It’s not that bad. Read it, please. Love it. Love me.

Get the ebook here.
Get the physical form here.

The poems were heavily influenced by the Mountain Goats’ 2002 album All Hail West Texas, which is something you guys should totally expect from me at this point. The title is taken from the final song on AHWT, “Absolute Lithops Effect”, a song which alone heavily influenced several of the poems in the ebook.


bar poems collection #1

giving up on you
is like giving up on
but sometimes we hold on to hope
when hope is unhealthy
and i want you
like a doublecheeseburger


i call you Him
with a capital H
because that’s all you are to me,
a proper noun


when we reach the bitter end
and all roads have converged
and all signs directed us here
and we’ve ridden the path as far as it goes
what if
we keep going anyway?


i see you
as small as a dream
and i am invisible as a dream in someone else’s head
we are so far away
from one another


you came here and sat down four seats away
your wind trailing you and filling the space with your smell
but you never looked at me.
i suppose we’ve answered the question
of “how to act if we see each other”
i suppose we’ve answered the question
of “how to ask ‘remember when?”
i miss you like the child
who never received affection from its father
and has always craved something vague
but never knew until confronted what it was




i am giving up the part the holds steady
the self-sufficiency
because i am broken and unwhole without you
does this say more about me
or about you?


a list of my transgressions:
fat, fat, fat, fat, ugly,
disfigured, annoying,
needy, ugly, fat, gross,
fucked up,
fat, fat, fat, ugly.


you fail to acknowledge me
as one fails to acknowledge an object
that is not theirs


call me
the queen
of being
fucked up
beyond repair


dear lord
let me
never fall
in love
ever again

Master of Reality

yesterday i woke up and
nothing was in my head. and
i’m talking about
the deep nothing, the
kind where your head thinks in incomplete sentences
and you don’t even care about the dangling modifiers.

so i stayed in bed with the shades drawn
my face illuminated by the screen of my phone.
i scrolled upwards and read ten months of text messages
while the people and things of ten months ago
came flooding into my empty head like cold salty water
into the titanic.

i walked around my apartment and stared at things
like the books whose authors sweat and bled into them
and which sit unread on my shelf. i took time to
the designs on the bottles of liquor, and the bottle of patrón,
hecho a méxico, signed and dated
in black ink with a mexican-human hand.

i recorded myself talking and
i listened to it back and
i didn’t recognize my voice.

i listened to black sabbath and recorded it
then i recorded the recording
until all i heard was static.
i listened to that instead
and it made me laugh.

i refreshed my email inbox for 2 hours.
no one had anything to say
so i took a

yesterday i went to sleep with
nothing in my head, and i said out-
loud, to the air: “i hope i dream.”