browsing is weird because space
however many flowers and fish
it fits we always run together
a long corporate sentence
that ends in lukewarm
food preparations by
the long long deli
with meatloaf
that sits under
meat lamp
for 5 long
hours
(originally published in Raw Dog Press, Summer 2025)
food
Making Meaning Quarantine
this repetitive block of Earth
same moon I hear the fucking
crickets chirping in my LOUD
LAPTOP FAN fog fog forget-
me-not forget me I can’t even
see my fucking FAMILY MY
FAMILY LIVES other lives
in this forsaken simulation I
live wildly too I experiment
mac and cheese with minced
garlic and parsley but it is still
Kraft no not still it is MAGIC
anything that sustains me is
MAGIC no MAGIC is LOVE
what LOVE keeps me alive is
NECROMANCY okay now
watch me unscrew my head and
place it on your porcelain plate
and let me TELL you
a SECRET after DESSERT
I’ll wait
(originally published in Oddball Magazine, Summer 2024)
Sixth Anniversary
As dark as this February has been
we still drank roses underground tonight.
We ate our fill of chestnuts and napa,
carried egg tarts uphill
under a rare, green comet,
and enjoyed the new taste
at home.
(originally published in Last Leaves, Fall 2023)
Tamales at Andrea’s
At her Penn Hills home an endless view
of rain green wide windows. With sink hot
faucet water we tear banana leaf a piece
of wallpaper press the masa they prepped
into dried dark a sturdy table.
Drop sauce, fork pork, wrap ribbon
makes pride and we learn to live
again. Almost a year still fresh
the big bowl of dead animal we gather
around. Andrea says steam in leaf
adds floral flavor, a life
to death jiggling within us–
oh, sweet touch of camaraderie,
hugs on a late December
Saturday. You were afraid
we started the day too early, but
we are in our mid-thirties. I wanted
to begin yesterday the festivities
that let us remember why we
remain alive– brown butter cookies
and the love, so much love in the living
room. When we get to the presents–
having already unwrapped our proud
banana leaves, there are Penguin
classics, band t-shirts, soy candles
but what we’d trade for anything–
white elephant– is more time.
(originally published in Triggerfish Critical Review, Summer 2024)
Tournament of Bachelors
Shuffleboard in Tampa is sliding into the DMs
of a box of saltines and eating each stack whole
if you dominate otherwise you drink leftover
juice from a friend’s friends’ wedding while
waiting for what you wanted forever on
the coast of happiness the cusp of sweet
custard overflowing with berries.
(originally published in The Waiting Room, Summer 2023)
Twix
If there is a bowl
of Twix at work,
I will act apathetic
when others are
around. Alone I will
bury open wrappers
tenfold in the trash.
Perhaps I have been
watching too much
true crime television,
or lived in the U.S.
too long– standing
over candy, ripping open
Twix after inadequate
Twix, I find the initial
bite of chocolate
caramel into biscuit
enough to make me
want the whole stick,
the whole candy bowl,
everything I can have
that’s for the taking,
like anything has ever
been entitled to me.
(originally published in PPP Ezine, Winter 2023)
Temporary
I often dream of simpler times–
driving my car to a customer
with a bag full of food, and poof–
gone. Then the memory fades
in an instant. All of time
passing. Right now. Into the ether.
The clock has dropped its weary
hand a tick downward.
The other hand desperately
reaches toward the sun.
(originally published in Academy of the Heart and Mind, Spring 2023)
Late-Summer Saturday, 2021
we walked a horseshoe through the Strip
ginger whiskey coffee whiskey honey whiskey apple whiskey
no matter what I always see this brand-new city
slamming glasses into a blue-skied table
what’s passed around we finish swiftly
while friends attempt to maintain some order
never too early to rush into a burger order
time being what it is
we consume all we can
(originally published in DREICH Magazine, Fall 2023)
The Hunger
First were fruits drifting down like feathers,
their sugar shells & caramel centers gooey.
When the fruits stopped fruiting, she scraped
off the tree’s gingerbread bark using flint
as a spatula. Next gone were leaves–
the sweet ones– but the branches chewed
like celery so were spat out. Feet swollen,
hands rugburn red, she climbed all
night, eating, the tree only sour leaves
& skeleton, exposed heart beating
before a death between teeth, strawberry ice
cream gushing past the mauve, ravenous moon.
(originally published in Bindweed Magazine, Summer 2021)
Silicon Valley (Season One, Episode Eight)
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)