Published inStasis·May 28, 2021Member-onlycockadoodle do wake mecockadoodle do put me back to sleep (a poem) Cockadoodle do lull me back to sleep at five in the morning the fever in this room up above the detached garage makes my mind swelter. I must, I must sleep again. The heat, the roosters–I am used to helter-skelter, but this is something entirely new. I can’t get a lick of satisfaction, and I don’t want none. Sweat beads slow like window rain, and pours down my tired face, all wrinkled like it’s fifty. But it’s twenty-five. I carry a fan under my arms wherever I go. To feel cool. Cockadoodle do have a romance to it. Cockadoodle do you call this necromancy? When you feel dead in hell and love it so? Cockadoodle don’t bother with responding. Cockadoodle don’t pay the noise it’s due diligencePoetry1 min readPoetry1 min read
Published inThe Brain is a Noodle·May 25, 2021Member-onlywill I be a good father?I don’t know, but I can sure as… — Poetry1 min readPoetry1 min read
Published inThe Brain is a Noodle·May 19, 2021Member-onlya new place in this world is homea poem — where the orange-dust streets are packed down with people motorbikes, rancorous Toyotas, and headless chickens / screaming pastors, open-air kitchens, and love colliding in a sort of rank symbiosis / I smell delicious sweat and tropical fervor / putrid meats, wicked perturbance, and a semblance of the place that I call home…Poem2 min readPoem2 min read
Published inThe Brain is a Noodle·May 17, 2021Member-onlydo not take coverinspiration is deep inside us all. fight the… — Poetry1 min readPoetry1 min read
Published inStasis·Apr 28, 2021Member-onlyLike a chicken with its head cut off.where to go but south? I was never a chicken, but when I was decapitated, I sure felt like one. Round and around and around I spun, con- stipated, confused, conned, bleeding. If kids aren’t supposed to come into the world anymore, then what about love? If a wedding is pointless, then what about eternity? Only a…Poetry2 min readPoetry2 min read
Published inStasis·Apr 22, 2021A Fine Answer to ‘Whatcha doin?’the world has a lot of shitty answers to greetings, but people in poems don’t. Ulysses was pedaling toward me with knives in his hands and white bared teeth music thumped through his speaker, wedged between his seat and decorative pine wreath Whatcha doin’, Old School? Bleecker Street blasted somethin’ grand today; his aura seethed with swagger. Ulysses was his real name, I just called him Man, or Old School. Breathe,Poetry1 min readPoetry1 min read
Published inStasis·Apr 22, 2021Member-onlyA pigeon could deliver a letter, so maybe a pen could shoot…guns don’t kill people, bad people with guns do. *poem.Indianapolis1 min readIndianapolis1 min read
Published inStasis·Apr 21, 2021Member-onlyWhy After 2 Years of Making a Living as a Writer, I Might Do Landscaping Instead.Sometimes it seems easier to wipe your slate clean and start all over, rather than truly figure out why you’re unhappy. This is my story of two years as a twenty-something freelance writer. — It all started with a shimmer. That shimmer, far out in the distance, faintly flashing but bright and certainly there, shone brighter with every study session I shunned in favor of writing a clunky, albeit clever ( to give myself some credit) poem or sad, cynically constructed short story. …Freelance11 min readFreelance11 min read
Published inThe Brain is a Noodle·Apr 21, 2021Member-onlyHow I Got Rid of the Noiseafter months of blocking it out, falling asleep… — Poetry1 min readPoetry1 min read
Published inStasis·Apr 20, 2021Member-onlyme, jack, walt, and ee met up at the bar.three famous poets and i, the fly on the wall, discuss art, masculinity, and other bullshit (a poem). maybe all i can do is talk to myself in the friendly confines of blacklined white notebook paper, or maybe walt’s waiting at the melody for me, i thought. maybe ee’s sipping a pabst in his car, windows…Poetry3 min readPoetry3 min read
