were two good friends in Los Angeles,
and in last night’s dream, Andrew announces
he quit acting, though we knew him as a screenwriter,
because he found success in Ohio, and thinking back,
in reality, we were journeying toward the same adolescent
dream, green stars, and we pursued when we were heartbroken,
worn-out, reckless, and last I saw Andrew he stuffed quarters
into the jukebox at gold-lit Birds, repeating Sussudio, commenting
on every woman at the bar, and I didn’t speak up. And Jesse had
returned that day from Thailand. He was sad and I was in love.
I had a chance to see him again– last fall, New York– but he has
a kid now and I could not muster a bus, or to revisit reminiscing
the dreams we shared, what we had to wake up from
during our long, separate searches for meaning.
(originally published in Ink Pantry, Fall 2024)
california
Shoppers
At Westside Pavilion, I watch shoppers
walk slowly to their Jubilees, carrying plastic
bags of silk and thread to the thrum of Monday.
I shop enough inside my hungry flesh, living
in my Ford, booking tiny television gigs to
replace my shoes. Sometimes, I am able to
watch myself in the lens of a softer society–
playing voyeur to my temporary belonging.
(originally published in Communicators League, Fall 2021)
O
lost contact walking
in circles around franklin
village you wanted to be alone
at the festival of rockets
you paid for everything
we met at the coffeepot
concert steamer summers
spent in a young galaxy
where we both loved
desert guitars
the avenue droughts
and cold
basements
(originally published in Rabid Oak, Spring 2022)
San Diego Zoo
after our red leash
became frantic
unsure of what grip
the wilderness had
or which eyeline
to focus on
oh aquamarine jewels
oh black-silk storks
name the artist
who decided traffic
was a logjam
in their brain
all you must do
(golden hour brown
on the frizz
of your hair)
is unclench
your fist
and follow
the leopard
(originally published in EAP: The Magazine, Fall 2023)
What Else
On a towel eating Lays
at the shore of Lake Erie’s
ocean-simulation but I just want
to piss in sand
singing memories of Los Angeles.
Sorry, the masses I abandoned.
What song of salt on tongue.
What rustic swampland.
Nothing
about the tide I claim
to understand. Water’s not even
clear. Only unexplainable shifts
of the heart coming
and coming at me relentlessly
like I never settled when it mattered.
Now I prefer deepwoods drugs.
Life’s a slow death
and I just need to get to the end.
(go)
What else do you want / what else
do you want / what else do you want? To do?
go
go
go
go
go
(originally published in Spotlong Review, Winter 2023)
A Poetry of Place
Because Tony once said he knew
Columbus and Los Angeles the way I do–
I have not yet developed a poetry of
place for Pittsburgh. Three years in and
still the surprise hills, the way I always
feel– still– an outsider wending my way
through confusing streets. I’ve worked with
Kailee’s dad longer than I lived with Paige
and still we haven’t had a deep conversation.
Everywhere I go there remains a sense of some
thing deep that needs explored. The way
I walked Los Angeles streets at night–
the endless sprawl– must be the same,
but Pittsburgh’s smaller, the graffiti
more familiar, how it’s all a sketch of home.
(originally published in Vilas Avenue, Winter 2023)
The Parking Garage Beneath Westside Pavilion
I slept beneath the mall for some time
to avoid the burden of capitalism ha!
if I could that would be glorious to
avoid the landlord hey look I am in
the parking garage what garbage
all these ads for movies I do and
do not want to see but I would
not know I did not want to see it
until seeing that is the predicament
I do not have the cash nor the time
to spend paying for rent give me
gunmetal cement walls six floors
beneath the surface where I drive
to where not even bugs venture
there I am unbound
I fly in my dreams
(originally published in Train: a poetry journal, Fall 2022)
The Photographs of Layzerus
were supposed to have fountains
not just in Santa Clarita, but
in Akron, too, a missed
moment against a brick wall
of self the undermined
understanding of art
versus creator, physical
creation versus memory
music I sang to create
a sentiment of dust
(originally published in EgoPHobia, Summer 2021)
The Spectacle of the Oscars
I can’t stand it– in LA one year
Alex King and I were invited to
an Oscars party but in the midst
of another sad singing act we left
for tacos but still stood around on
the green and red tiles watching
a muted tv anyway I think Billy
Crystal was the host that year
the gleam in his eyes dead I
walked Sunset and Vine seeing
unsharpened pencil eyes all
these wannabes myself included
I peeked in one mirror to comb
hair and breathe into glass then
outlined my name inside a star
to leave a filthy myth somewhere
(originally published in Whistling Shade, 2021)
Outside a Ralphs in San Diego
At the shore of supermarket
I wake under a white blanket
in my Ford’s backseat.
People pass, transient within
their own transactions, conquering
mundane daily fortresses.
I exist outside a system
of bees, exiled from Los Angeles.
Sunshine seeking amber
sunshine– its sweet, temporary
glow, my being unknown.
(originally published in Scapegoat Review, Winter 2022)