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.