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Solidarity as Utility

Can we unanimously agree on something?

Without qualifiers or determiners

Without prefaces or modals

Without which, but, if, why, how

Hold on

Let’s stop at the how.

How can we unanimously agree on something,

if we can only feel it?

If a word is uttered

And climbs into another’s mouth,

Does it become food for the spirit?

If a thought flutters by the ear,

Is it music to the mind?

If a feeling is shared in an opiatic moment,

Does the body remember?

How can we unanimously agree

If we are all missing our key utility?

When emigre  finds other diasporas creating esprit de corps.

When harmonious cohesion acknowledges both Fernweh and Hiraeth.

When Merak allows for lefargen.

How can we unanimously agree

When we are exhausted by the senseless violence?

Infuriated with the non-believers

Betrayed by our supposed allies

Trapped in a continued state of malneirophrenia.

This is our only viable option.

Solidarity as utility.

Performing several functions

Advancing our viabilities

Connecting our consensus

Through camaraderie

Materializing our mutual loyalty

Surviving the unscrupulous spectators

Witnessing and jeering at our pains and struggles

So my question for you

Is no longer how

Nor why, which, where, what,



When solidarity is our unanimous utility,

How can we ever not avail?

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“Violent Green Synthesis,” Velvet Pipe Tobacco,” & “Vehemently Voracious”
Picture Show Press: V: An Anthology of Poetry (2019)

Velvet, vixen, villain, vinyl, veil … This powerful anthology contains poems that primarily explore naming, love, #metoo, wordplay, and nostalgia.

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Is This What Bravery Feels Like?

Is this what bravery feels like?

Crying in the middle stall of the Schönefeld  airport

Missing you dearly and not regretting a moment, decision, or choice.

Is this what bravery feels like?

Life in two suitcases

One abused violin

and objects left behind never to be reclaimed.

Is this what bravery feels like?

Denying the handouts

Living in an abandoned warehouse

Sleeping on pallets

because your parents said,

“You chose to be that way.”

Is this what bravery feels like?

Ending a marriage of 20 years

To live in a one room apartment

Racking up debt from never having worked a day in your life

Children visiting every other weekend

Loving you, hating you, never understanding you.

Is this what bravery feels like?

Shaving your head to hide in a basement bar

With foreign tongues lapping your ear for language

As you drink piss tasting piña coladas.

Is this what bravery feels like?

Period sex and discarded tampons

Clots clambering down your leg

Wondering where all the bleeding was truly coming from.

Is this what bravery feels like?

Loving this

Hating this

Living this

Licking this

Just a little taste

And wondering

Is this what bravery feels like?

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Time Touched Lover

Lulled shivers

of post-coitus sighs

from fur quake

exhaling soft rings.

Cellulite stretches and

a mole marked majora

wrinkled smiles

of a stretched perineum

and receding scrotum

curling behind terse

grey hairs.

My time touched lover,

we are orgasms in stillness.

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Why Hello There

It seems that you have stumbled upon this site, for which I have no answer as to why you are here. All I have for you are more questions. Questions upon questions upon questions. So, if you don’t want to think, or you expect some kind of answer, then run little one. Run very quickly away. For this is not the place for you, and you have stumbled into an ever expanding mind with no foreseeable exit.

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Letter to the Privileged White Man

I know you feel
to this space
and that
my time is
less valuable
than yours,
you are foolish
& ignorant
I will
immortalize you
on the page
and this
will haunt you
just as I
have been
by the
privileged white man.

Giving People Their Space in Public

The strange sensation of giving space in public
even now don’t give it to me


Give me this
and give me my space in public

the space to freely move this body
through the street
engaging in ____ repetition
Repeat this monstrous rhythm
within this entrapped tradition of
moving through the physical space

Give me this because I will gratuitously give you

this space


your voices echo
up these walls
and through the subway

I give you

this space

would you kindly give

Heimat who Lives in a Box

My friend Heimat lives in a box which she wears everywhere we go. It constantly causes conflicts when making dinner reservations. The last time we made a dinner reservation, after crossing the threshold of the restaurant, she grew larger than the door continuously banging into the door frame. She grew embarrassed and shriveled down to a matchbox. I picked her up, kissed her, walked in, and was escorted to our table.

The service was horrible or maybe we were never supposed to be there. The other guests closed their eyes as they ate, and the waitstaff’s heads were always transfixed on our position regardless of where their bodies were moving. When the food arrive, it was cold and had a hair in it.

I signaled the waiter to explain the poor state of the meal.

“Nicht mein Problem,” they retorted and handed me the check.

I looked at the total as the numbers fell off the table. I whispered to Heimat who opened her matchbox, and I climbed in and fell asleep. When I awoke and climbed out, the restaurant was closed and everyone was gone.

This is ART!

Are you going to that thing? Nah, probably not. Are you going to this? Maybe. Are you going to this person’s event? We’ll see. I feel like the majority of conversations with friends are always maybes and sometimes, of howevers and we’ll sees. Multiple exclamation points and emojis followed by sterile conversations and periodic assertions. An observation of the world followed by a descent back into the hidden underground of pop-up, observe, and thinking, “no thank you.”

It’s all just a game right? Learn the rules, break the players, and step on the board. A rat race to the top created by telling us that it exists, and, if you want to exist, start climbing. So you coming with me to this thing or not? Do they have beer? Of course! It’s an art exhibition. Do I have to be all serious and shit? Probably not. Give me an hour.

“This is art!” the man barrades himself with wet condoms and used tampons, “I am the body!” he shouts as a tampon slaps him in the face. Someone is sobbing and taking photos in the back. “I am mother Earth receiving your sin. Receiving your trash. You are trash!” Funny, I thought you were the one getting slapped by condoms and tampons, but hey this is art, and I am not an artist, so I have no agency as I watch my used tampon from the bathroom bin fly across the room, hit the back wall, and slink to the ground. I always feel like I’m in Black Ghost.

I look to my friend who is passionately engaged with the water stain in the corner. What are you looking at? Something other than this. Da fuck did you bring me to? It’s called networking. Did you really think bringing me was a good idea cuz this shit is hilarious. It’s fine. Everybody is super high on coke anyway. Wait, there’s no beer, but there’s wine and coke? Yeah, you know, artist types. They have to numb their egos to be more receptive to another’s.

Identify or Identity

We identify the parts of our identity

Our identification is our own indemnification

Building barriers and boxes like the threshold of our homes

We take the frame with us

Presenting visually pleasing images

In Vorspeise Format

We objectify ourselves

Hashtags of our humanity

To identify with an already established identity

Creating neat little packages to give to the world

But we are not packages

And we are far from neat

We are water in flesh

Infinitesimal forms trapped in solids

Being forced to categorize our molecular structures

with these human words and symbols

Do not identify yourself

or present yourself

as a consumable morsel

Live my sweetness, however you choose, because when you die

You won’t remember if you of this world ever existed in the first place

Ode to a Piece of String

Such joy and torment can be
found in a piece of

Hours of sheer bliss
pawing at the air
moments of sickening torment
as you pull softly
digit over digit

Such power in a piece of string!

We can string things together
or string them along
Something to never forget
Or never remember
Binding for maintenance
pain or pleasure

Strung out or strung up?

tickling agitation
teasing temptation
unravel, unwind, wrap, curl, stitch, mend

such joyful torment
such tormenting joy
in a piece of string.

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