promise: (v) to let go

(a pleasure activism exercise) I’m at a Marriott in Pueblo putting lotion on my nipples before bed when it hits and I’ve learned I’ve got to write it down when it hits I’ve lost too many poems to I’ll remember it in the morning and, like, I don’t know if you know this but it’s

I Used to Be a Poet

Listen to my first slam poem of 2021 and follow along with the text below.

The Laundry Load

there are days when i wake up buried in laundry under ultraviolet light these clothes would show a bloodbath there’s no delicate setting on this spin cycle impossible to separate childhood from the whites from you quit softener and dryer sheets years ago because it all comes back the same one time in fourth grade

There is Joy in Sadness Too

today i cried the sudden out of nowhere wasp sting between the fingers COVID swab up the nostril kind of cry for the man on the bridge was a titan of grief propped up on six legs nothing special about today or the bridge or the man or the tears just that the medication seems

nesting

it feels like it’s coming back / inside / a subtle shift / same as before / different / every time / shifted to the counter / to make room / boil pasta / never replaced / no one would care / why should i / who even has a decorative kettle / boy /