the moon lies low over the Exxon station.
my camera’s died, but there’s still a sky
I want to see; I wait
for the pinks to deepen, cradle
the little body on my backpack: the way I’d rest my head
on wandering days dreaming of Taipei.
ducking between the bars of the roadblock
coming down through the pines to the parking lot,
there’s a gathering of streetlights
for some sacrament unknown.
& there’s something in the Potomac soak’d
summer of Virginia we came back for, or maybe
just to get away from the bay.
they were checking cars out of Baltimore;
you stashed your Smirnoff under my seat, wrapped it
in the bag like a baby in a basket.
then we turned off, took a different exit.
I ran all the way out
past the abandoned house
that’s technically on Goolsby,
not Ruby; it doesn’t
you guys went before me, got
the good stuff from Philly
& I want to get there
before you set it off.
quiet minds of the nocturnal, the holiday’s over;
the drive stretched on past midnight.
sometimes you stare like
a security camera when you’re thinking,
reviewing all the footage from the day.
3 days agoSeptember 17, 2014 5 notes
Of your forsworn house, don’t go to sleep if there’s an ant in your ear
Otherwise you’ll die, parked cars are like sleeping lions, watch out,
Safety from memory is in the pathless woods at night.
- Bernadette Mayer, Midwinter Day
1 month agoAugust 12, 2014 7 notes
Exploring supermarkets on Be Still, Cody tour.
(Philadelphia, Spring 2014.)
1 month agoAugust 3, 2014 10 notes
Allison, behind the community center.
(July 4th, 2013)
2 months agoJuly 7, 2014 10 notes
mornings met with something missing
between the linoleum and remembering what I dreamed.
2 months agoJuly 4, 2014 14 notes
I think a story that I’ve written on and off since I was sleeping in the storage room at punk house is more or less done. It’s a new feeling to me to focus on a single idea for such a long time and watch it expand and change the whole way. I’ll think about the orange light that would fill the room twice a day and be amazed at how fiction can step in for actual events. It affords a kind of power to tell things the way you would have them happen and not the way they ever do, and maybe that’s an incredible aid in dealing with life as it passes.
3 months agoJune 14, 2014 3 notes
passing as the sky darkens.
a raised section of highway
level with where we stood
on the roof, & the rest of
bottomed out between us.
hug your mom or pray or
don’t tell baopei.
3 months agoJune 12, 2014 4 notes
Some simple html poems made from various received text messages in my phone and a guide to exploring storm drains:
3 months agoMay 31, 2014 1 note
On Tour with Be Still, Cody.
Pt. II : Montclair, New Jersey.
5 months agoApril 13, 2014 16 notes