After our date at Melt Bar and Grilled
cheese grease macaroni and butter saliva
dripped from our lips onto crumb plates
back when Marina & the Diamonds were hip
(if they were ever) in style I wired it from aux
cord to speakers to let you know I am not
a robot in an operatic tone indicating
romantic desperation my circuits buzzing
& I thought during the open-heart chorus
you’d say much more than cool
(originally published in Ygdrasil, Winter 2021)
The only photograph of us we ever took was
at Thursday’s Lounge, on an ancient phone from
ten years ago. Your boyfriend at the time snapped
us, smiling, in front of the liquor selection. Neither
of us realized it would be years until the next time
we would meet again. Since then, I have acquired
a mountain of phones, piled somewhere in storage.
And while I want to find this picture for some kind
of momentary joy, I cannot hope to find one such
antiquity in a landfill of antiquities. I know the
memory has become warped, muted, fuzzy.
Since I’ve seen you, we have both compiled a
mountain of loves, relics embedded within
ourselves. The brain’s complicated wirings–
circuitry functioning enough to remind me
we were, briefly, more than a photograph.
(originally published in AvantAppal(achia), Spring 2023)
we paid a judgment debt
now we drive red-on-blue
thunder on Akron soft-rock
in the void into the name-of-mine
where Katie and I
must make a mockery of ourselves
I must state I am not the opportunity
I need to define
you are the opportunity
and we pretend to avenge
our fallen love’s arches we are the same
down between dots that rusted golden medal
in an ocean of toothpaste of scraps of dirt shoes
of wings on our backs under legs covered in scars
of dark scuffed white on the wrong pavement
knowing no matter what I say
you are to tell me I love you
until we’ve laughed it out
(originally published in Mason Street, Winter 2022)
I am reading old journals, putting
pieces of my past in place–
a series of staircase Tetris shapes,
a broken board mixing L.A. palm
fronds with bad haircuts Dad
gave me, but we needed to save
money, and I was bratty. I wanted
video game anime hair but got slanted
bangs laughed at by classmates and
teachers (who would never admit they
found it funny). I knew, and still do.
Sharp laughter edged in memory. I
want to say I’ve gotten over it. Over
all of it. But I still hold the smoky
gray of Nintendo controller in both
hands, and I am trying to move the pieces
where they need to go– but I am
older and life is faster, blocks falling
into places I can no longer find them,
stacking dark spaces to the top of my
screen after these earlier, easier years.
(originally published in Bond Street Review, Winter 2021)
Went to Thursdays with
a friend who quit boot
camp but hates this bar so
left. I am good at waiting in
darkness, alone, drinking.
Other friends come but are
clung on by creepers. I Woke
Up Today by Port O’Brien
plays and suddenly we’re on
the precipice of another Ohio
summer! I high-five Rabbit
AKA High-Five Guy who is
an Eagle Scout. He buys us
shots of Crown and Coke,
then throws his glass into
the air, aiming for the roof.
But there is a hole in the roof
and the glass follow’s gravity’s
stringent rules and shatters
on the kaleidoscope everywhere.
The bald, black-eyed bouncer
points a finger and we are back
on the streets, the future still
shards in our powerful palms.
(originally published in The Beatnik Cowboy, Spring 2023)
Whenever I meet a person
I like to think there is
a string tethered between us.
Not a cobweb or rough
rope but a violin, or a cascade
of violins, the song within you
within each person, too. I see
you in this coffee shop across
the block; thus, we are connected,
intertwined forever whether you
go to the space station or not
and I am stuck in Akron,
cursing God as ground-
dwellers do. Inhabitant of the heart–
in this world of small worlds,
this blue sunken sea I’m clung
to you at its depths, you cling
to me with the urchins
on your shirt, the breath
in your lungs my own,
each molecule moving
the way we together move.
(originally published in Poetry Salzburg Review, Summer 2023)
When you see me on screen–
with blue jacket and plastic
glasses– listening to Zach
Woods brainstorm a plan
to pivot Pied Piper into
an app that can attract
rodents– like the fairy tale,
you’d think this guy on TV
is one lucky bastard.
But you probably didn’t
notice, because you don’t
know me, and you see hundreds
of people on screen
living the dream every day.
And you can see me in season
two and the first episode
of the show, ever–
the very first scene,
during the Kid Rock
concert– on stage with a
hundred other extras, and–
at the time, I had
just moved to Los Angeles,
and the background roles
I had been cast for
resulted in me
on a projector!
My friends at home
who got used to me
no longer being able
to meet them drunk
at Highland Tavern on
Mondays were now not
completely surprised
to see me rewindable
in their living rooms.
I felt destined for great
things, marked this only
the beginning, like
everyone else chasing
dreams in the city of angels.
But all I could afford to eat
were packets of beef
ramen, boxes of blue
Kraft mac and cheese
with water instead
of milk– no butter.
Hard-boiled eggs
kept me alive
long enough
to come home
to show friends
who were getting used
to me being able to
meet them drunk at
Highland Tavern on
Mondays my favorite clip–
with blue jacket
and plastic glasses,
I listen to Zach Woods
brainstorm a plan
to pivot Pied Piper
into an app that can
attract rodents–
like the fairy tale.
(originally published in Statement Magazine, Spring 2023)
I was new to this
kind of longing
sticky all my fingers
on red fingernail cups
but I was a visitor I was a loner
I lived in my car
a couch was a luxury
four cats purred and clawed
at me I couldn’t sink anything
into the drinks. I sank
but made myths I missed
everyone in Akron everything
that happens to you
sticks to you. swish
there was a way to
live in all places at once.
Pittsburgh Columbus Akron
Los Angeles. my memories
are mine and they are selfish. I cling
to what I forget which is what
I drink away which is all
the spills over all the years
I haven’t yet wiped clean.
(originally published in The Seventh Quarry, Summer 2023)
Tune-lover, beachcomber sculpting
seashells from stones to listen for ripples (nothing
loaded but time) and I have written– haven’t I–
distance into oblivion (that tidal bass a metaphor,
its vastness deepening) & am I not a shell of was
once, was gripping to any mast to lose
the sea, change quivering– I swear– every molecule
of my being, I must (from the must) of any old
ceiling, the dust it lends to fading carpets,
the ones we walked and walk on today
(originally published in The Broken City, Summer 2021)
we call ourselves lobsters
(the roaches of the sea)
battling anxiety’s frigid wind
against mossy rocks
(BREATHE)
just kidding.
but we do drink moonshine
a Cleveland IPA
a glass of mortality
foaming
(originally published in Ygdrasil, Winter 2021)