Hurtling Down a Mountainside, Driving to Kentucky

I dream of every trip
I thought about but never took.

All the jagged cores of Earth
I could have roamed, like a corkscrew,

the bottles of wine I could’ve
sipped in the arms of a stranger.

all the moments I could’ve escaped,
the sphere of mourning a lost love

and saw our connection of flesh
the way it was:

a cockeyed and hopeful
melding of greed and alcohol.

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boxed wine blues

spills into the empty marketplace
of my useless poems.

i am dizzy with the illusion of love,
its whispers of fear,
my heart shudders to recognize,

it remains scattered, yet coalesces
like a hive mind, within the DNA
of a billionaire’s multitude:

where i’m unchartable and rigidly anonymous.

Pai, Thailand

heart blurred. shoes worn.

I am hanging over the edge of the world, breathing rice paddies and fields of garlic.

the wind tumbles through my pages and I find the ocean in the eyes of an fisherman. 

he is smooth as a river rock;

I lie naked within his heart. 

we share cigarettes until the plastic burns away.

until our skin peels and lands upon our feet.