About Wine

Wine is nice until it is not.
Especially when the box is empty.
We don’t bottle anything up.
We pour a cup full out of the nozzle,
Plastic bag,
Mason jar,
Chaos created by a cardboard box.
18 dollars for 5 full liters of fun,
Then we run downstairs.
Around the corner you’ll see 222,
Selling boxes of wine to minors with makeup.
It’s only a minor offense to feed wine down our throats.
I don’t choke of underage,
But my friends do.
I tell you,
Makes a fool out of you.

Wear It Well

I wear my body like a rust freckled mailbox that has held other people’s secrets like a full journal, a finished book, but still an untold story.
I wear my ego like fake brass knuckles that will never be used,
Like shoes I believed would look good three years ago but they still sit in their original box.
I wear my stubbornness like a bullet proof vest woven from fear.
I wear my solitude like a tree that stands alone in the middle of a cornfield.
My bones are maple.
My imagination is a Red Wood.
I dance like wind-found branches.
I wear my steps like a drum.
I hold cymbals in my palms and they crash like my laugh holds the Grand Canyon in my lungs.


Kum + Go

Maybe these people are Kum + Go.
Side of the road, South Dakota, and things didn’t seem so wrong.
I drove city to city, no reason.
I stopped in Wyoming, no idea the state I was in.
Then traveled west towards Denver, excited goosebumps on my skin.
Quick to return and quick to leave.
My van took me up the mountainside as well as it took me down.
It became my camp ground,
My home on wheels.
It took me wherever the steering wheel turned.
Eyes, tear heavy.
Heart and head, heavy sulking.
Loneliness had never felt so forced.


All at once, I think of them-
Best friends,
Now acquaintances.
Online meetings
And old reconnections.
I moon-stare-
Old, but lighting up.
There’s not enough of me out there.
Maybe that’s why I want to spread-
Into all of them-
The moon,
The sun,
The stars,
And the trees.
This is me,

Bring Me Me

Bring me solace.
Bring me comfort.
Bring me chaos.
I’ll linger in her fingertips.
I’ll rip her waves from my shore and cringe with greed.
I’ll dance around her ankles and make sure she falls.

Bring me everything I don’t need so I have a reason to scream.
Bring me open roads and closed toed shoes.
Bring me anger.
I’ll flick her in the nose.
I’ll learn to lick her melted heart like a lollipop.
I’ll finish her sentences with bad intentions.

Bring me anything.
Bring me something.
Bring me nothing.
I’ll wallow in her self-loathing.
I’ll swallow myself whole in order to see that her insides are alive.
I’ll judge the emptiness with a mountain-sized envy.

Bring me a moment.
Bring me a mile.
Bring me a wish.
I’ll treat her like a queen.
I’ll greet her with clammy palms and dimpled cheeks.
I’ll make my own knees weak so she doesn’t have to be.

Bring me me.
I’ll be happy to meet her.


I’m surrounded by people of
Mixed genders,
Mixed races,
And mixed up faces I haven’t seen before.
My constant craving for company comes with it’s downsides;
Eager to settle,
But never settled where I sit.
Around this table is a missed opportunity.
This scene is weird to me.
It’s wrong to me.
“Right” hasn’t come with an hour long drive
Or a four day road trip.
I sit stagnant-souled but swaying,
Eagerly awaiting brushing by a body that makes me wade for a while,
Or a crowd that makes me feel full-
-Not hallow.

Miniscule Murder

Pulling weeds per my mom’s request.
The patches of grass had bravely grew through driveway cracks and made the cement look a little too grey for my parent’s liking.
I’m out of a job.
My mom offered to pay me.
I’m pulling weeds,
Squatting barefoot next to tiny green forests I pull bare handed.
Between my fingers I squeeze towards the roots, twist, and pull.
Dirt comes with, dusting the driveway.
This pull and toss game happens a few times.
I get to a plant that’s a little harder to pull.
I twist twice.
Not as much dirt disperses this time but what I saw underneath made me stop my plant plucking.
Hundreds of them.
To me, the chaos was little.
It was dirt that would blow away over night
But I’m afraid I might have made those ant’s lives a lot harder.
I might have turned their night from casual to overtime.
I squatted closer,
A gaping hole where a plant used to be rooted no sits between slabs of hard concrete.
I wonder what’s underneath it all and I look closer.
At first I thought they were rebuilding, bringing dirt chunks into their home to stack the walls tall again.
But I looked again…
The ants were carrying the dirt outwards,
Not replacing.
They were hurrying like I had buried their family.
I watched an ant climb straight up the side with a rock at least six times it’s size.
I saw the ant shake when the weight of the rock got caught on a twig,
But he kept shaking,
And shaking,
Like I shook the dirt off the roots of each plant I picked.
Like I shook the plant from it’s spot.
And I realized,
I am not just pulling weeds.
I am complicating things for many more than myself.
I could be a mass murderer and not even know it.
Those ants will be working all night.
I would help them if I could but I’m afraid I wouldn’t fit.
I’m much too big and I can’t speak their language.
There’s more grass at the end of the driveway I need to pull before my parent’s get home.