Cataloged

"What's on your mind, _________?" "What's happening?" something needs to be cataloged every minute, Taken into account, the importance of a moment as it passes through some lens of organic matter. We capture the best parts ((what we see as the best parts) and what do we do?) and we turn it, paint it, color … Continue reading Cataloged

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Ice

It's stretched thin, like how I imagine water feels when it is frozen too quickly; as a whole, just a cube of cold matter, slightly larger than it was, something perfect for hot, Early September in the South West, on closer inspection, this water is screaming from expansion, swollen beyond recognition by fellow molecules. but … Continue reading Ice

Twenty-Three (or “Twenty-One” Revisited)

Twenty-three. Twenty-two. He's the age of shocking discoveries. Pushing himself to limits that set him back into loops of ecstasy and months of couch ridden recoveries. Drowning himself in lavender and tea tree oil, he meditates his brain into a submissive pulp and the world smiles back by slowly and softly responding to every fifth … Continue reading Twenty-Three (or “Twenty-One” Revisited)

Every Cup of Coffee

You, you, you, you're Me, My, Mine, Ours We're the selfish lovers of post-pot generations planted in the earth with chemicals and multiple jobs, innately raised to hope that things will get better, knowing that nothing can fall into our laps because we're always standing opportunities are, instead, launched with deadly velocity at our crotches, … Continue reading Every Cup of Coffee

The Alien with the Orange Teapot

It's funny, I'm sitting in some coffee shop in Santa Fe, drinking a house brewed kombucha, scolding myself for the hipster tendencies that crawl beneath my skin like so many sub-dermal potato bugs, or an old cough that won't go away, the remnant descendants of this season's Rhinovirus clinging to the edges of my esophagus, … Continue reading The Alien with the Orange Teapot

Thinking Inkly: Looking For You, Wherever You Are

It's difficult to sit down and just write anything. there are confines, rules, set regulations that come to the tips of the fingers when one deems it time to create. It's as if something immediately wedges itself between the keyboard and the brain. And what's between the keyboard and you? I can't quite say. Infinite … Continue reading Thinking Inkly: Looking For You, Wherever You Are

Days of Silence

it's all lost glue and peanut butter the cat ran away with it it's been bitten mouth to mouth Heimlich Maneuver CPR Certified purple lipped finger under nose I rub my cheek feeling the hollowed out cave where it used to sit existing in a rotating desk chair pinched between two incisors all business until … Continue reading Days of Silence