I was so broke
and depressed.   sometimes I forget
that. it was the depression that was pinning me
to my apartment, keeping me locked there
keeping me imprisoned.
not my insecurity but a numbness that had me
making more terminable plans
with bathtubs
bu some small joy always carried me:

always and

a used and discarded turquoise shelf
I found when I was out.
I hung it loosely on the wall,
without commitment and the wood
became immediately blackened by my incense cones.
the corners splintered and were
dripping rosary,
rarely dusted and topped with pictures
of my deceased:
Nana, Papa, Anselm Hollo,
other clients, friends I knew
in childhood and
unknown cousins,
guinea pigs,
first dog Pepper,
my first dead brother
or third dead uncle.
always drink or suicide,
something tragic when it comes
to my family but
I’m still here and
brave, I think.
in a few different ways
but I want cleansing

so I tear it from wall,
I’m stripping the floral siding
with my fingernails,
peeling the paint back to white
to present to you
a dusted start.
I wear black skirts with lace
lining for the cats,
rain boots when I go out,
drawn shades with a smirk,
and nothing when you come



I am a nihilist,

nobody had to teach me
that and no men
held that void quite like
I can hold that void.  
they mocked me and I let
them; I
have a constructed reality
that surrounds me but I feel
a thirty year repression
birthing from a well
and it carries eels like
lightning, the nose of sharks;
past betrayals come next.
you like rain:
a little deluge for your
flight, I feel no obligation
to anything:
my rectitude,
our plans,

or my penciled tips
on how to revitalize
warehouse row,
I’m tired and
my want for self grows and
ends in impatient provocation,
your spiral notebook,
the bottom of the ocean.


well, they always start
the same way:
in winter, it always starts in
winter, that’s when I am my weakest.
I am usually unsettled,
raving at the window,
the frost,
the cracks in my joints announcing
themselves in arthritic temper.
  you’re so young
I’m so young at this.

inexplicably manic
during the darkest months,
at times I know I should
be sleeping so I am reaching
for anything that reaches
to help me get through the

in truth, I am a nihilist.
men didn’t teach me that
nothing ever matters and
nothing is ever coming back.
I watch my days get dragged away by tides
that become encroaching swells
and think to myself,
well, it always starts
with a storm.


Part 2:

The Act of Blaming things

“yeah the guilty is often
the victim of the injured.”

–khalil gibran

as if I am even hurting anything;
some embittered tremulous
thing shaking her fist at the
moon and praying for a tidal

you notice the notch in my veins
before you even notice
the flood.


“To live in this world you must be able to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it against your bones
knowing your own life depends on it;
and when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.”

–Mary Oliver


you are triumphant again—being left alone an entire weekend to suckle at your head. you are not in the darkness, you are the darkness that consumed you in private and choosing a ceaseless solitude, you are fearing for your life again.



7386E228-A76D-4F71-AC1A-5B3CCABE57F2.jpegHappy new moon in Virgo. Today is a special day for Virgo suns laying to waste all their self admonishment to thrive during this next lunar cycle. Grow big.

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