My Big Red Angry Poem

Who funds the funders?

Fuck oil
Fuck gas
Fuck coal
Fuck big

Except big love

I mean, fuck if y’all want

That can be part of love

For real though, companies
can fuck right off

I’ll sip without a straw and all,
but the next time
someone tries to convince me
that it’s all our faults
the planet is dying,

I will scream
I WILL scream

fuck corporations
and all those who run them

How about we
run all profits
right into the fucking ground?

better yet,
give them to the people
who really need them.


Disco Infernum

If the fires should jump, my love,
let us become as hoses
and gush, and fight heat
with liquid majesty
and science.
If the burning breaks
all the barriers,
and hugs our clothing close,
the better to grip our flesh,
then I will my ashes
to swirl on the wind,
and dance all the way to paradise,
which is any place cooler than this.
Lay my memories upon
the tongues of the living
so they speak,
and swallow sadness,
that then leaks out their tired eyes.
A sizzling dinner,
a cooking breakfast,
campfires encircled by song
as night burns all the light –
memento mori, please,
memento mori.



I remember the way we folded together,
I remember
begging for forever,
aching for our pleasure,
I couldn’t even fathom a
away from you.
Now I haunt social media
and second-guess every like,
every comment, every message,
no matter what they’re about.
Dating apps have also
fallen down the well.
Something something fuck.

Poetry, rambling

Scattered Notes

Hello everyone. Every now and then thoughts pass through my mind, and I like them well enough that I type them out as notes on my phone. I almost lied and said that I jot them down in my journal, but alas, I save my journal for longer, rambling thoughts. These are the smaller pieces of my psyche, ones that could maybe develop into poems or essays or some meandering written thing. I’m going to arrange them in the order that I wrote, er, typed them down, then I’m going to rearrange them in a way that turns them into something slightly fresh. Sprightly flesh, I hope. Allow me to try and suffuse them with new life. Here they are.

I want love that blooms and grows
like spring,
that waits while snow falls and
covers everything.

To be neutral in the face of indecency is to be indecent.

To sing the ragged edge
Night coffee

An exhortation against productivity culture

warp of woman, weft of feeling,
west of time, and love, and dreaming,

And now, without further ado, the new form of my old notes.


I want love that blooms and grows like spring, that waits while snow falls and covers everything. Warp of woman, weft of feeling. To be neutral in the face of indecency is to be indecent. To sing the ragged edge, night coffee: an exhortation against productivity culture.

West of time, and love, and dreaming,



I am
a mustachioed loser
a pulsating weakness
a miracle shrouded in flesh
iridescent trigonometry
a receptive lover
an echo of wailing smeared across the night
the slab and the chisel
the cure and the tumor
the ocean and the vessel
the truth and the rumor
endless in finite feedback loops
eating chicken nuggets at midnight
filled to the brim with passion and fear
incredibly lonely
credibly lusty
sensually rusty
just, incredible
supposedly inedible
breaking the pattern to say
“Does anyone wanna eat me?
For the love of ____,
I’d like a mouth on me.”

That’s it.
That’s all I’ve got.
I have forgotten the thrill
of other fingers brushing
for mine,
to grab

Poetry, rambling


Dear [insert name of shitty public official here],

You’re something like scum. Not quite scum because even scum is better than you. I wish I knew how to bottle fire in secret. So I could throw it at your house. I’m not that violent, but the things you’ve done, they piss me right the fuck off. How dare you arrive where you’re not invited? How dare you take money from longer-standing pockets? Not that length of tenure has anything to do with pay owed … but you’re not even from here. And you demand an obscene amount of cash. Fuck you. The people who work with you are all resigning. They’ve resigned themselves to your lordly bloated ways. The nerve of you, to pay yourself twice their wage. With less than half their time in the job. Fuck you, again. Fuck you to death, over and over. Way to clear out the board room and make way for your shitty bloated friends. I hope we learn to bleed you out before you bleed our city dry. Or I really will have to learn to bottle fire in secret. You’ve earned first-degree burns for your hubris.

With nothing but contempt,
a pissed-off citizen



the way that I think of you constantly
the way that I check my phone again and again
the way you fill my dreams and daydreams
the way we hold hands in my mind
the way my longing for you dilutes time
the way I glance again and again at the screens, the screens
the way no notifications tell me everything I need to know
the way I want to write letters
the way I want to sound better
the way I want to look fucking delicious
the way I want to be wanted
by you
by you
‘bye, you
fever dream