permanently undecided.

I’m trying, Spring cries. Please do not curse my spirit. I’ve been weakened by winter’s bite; his vicelike grip wrapped round my windpipe. Blame black piles of unrelenting ice and gales knocking uninvited at your window. Bring your woes to the still frozen pond and whisper tales of how the sun warms water when not obstructed by thick barricades of ice. I wonder why she pains, from what…

old habits die hard

By Taylor Sprague I’ve picked up smoking again.Loneliness creeping in like afternoon shadowsin winter’s thick,I sought familiar throughways to lost souls watching smoke swirl through unforgiving air like Jack Frost’s hollow whistle.On cracked curbs orsilent stoopsempty eyes stare at same stars –asking why. The line between being a smoker and smoking a cigarette blurs like the line between…

Reflecting on Stone Butch Blues

Last night, I finished reading Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg for the first time. I have never before felt so understood and seen by a piece of literature. My heart ached every time I picked up the tattered pages of a library book that has been passed around over the recent decades. Upon finishing, there are so many thoughts in my mind and on my heart that I feel compelled to use my own…

*This poem is an excerpt from my work in progress, “We Became Mountains” Does the mountain cry when she sheds her skin?Crumbling rocks tumble to infinite oceanshe always gives so much of herselfjust to see their tide rise.Eroding stones have covered me beforethe landslide unwanted, but not unexpected.When the dust settles, I weepand like a smell that sparks a memorythis all feels so familiar.Lost…

on nostalgia: friday night lights

On a visit to my childhood bedroom, restless nostalgia fending off sleep, houses of high school friends blur past bleary eyes. The right-side mirror recognizes a roof I’ve seen the moon from, stoned sophomore speculations of what lies beyond that stunning celestial being. Standing in the seldom celebrated home team endzone, one hundred yards seems so small. And though it’s midnight in the dead…

Brain buzzing on its own terms –separate from skulldistinct from spine. Restless as 2 amon Tuesday night,or is it Wednesday morning? Open refrigeratorlight reaching like longing limbsdisrupting darkness. shush quiet do not disturb the dormant. Dizzy dancing chaotic circles –stories I’ve heard before. Orbiting kilos or pounds –universally heavy headlinesof death,of deception. Paying pounds…

Autumn Mornings Still At Home

Break of dawnbefore the sun’s arms stretchthe fourth house emerges;first morning cigarettedangling between drowsy fingers. In deep daybreak slumber, I hear click click click a lighter seeking something to ignite. Stillness suddenly surrendered,my alarmed companionerupts in enormous bark –waking from subconscious hunt –primed to chase the unintended intruderfrom the lawn she mows;the coffee…