Some nights I pretend

I pretend I’m too tired it’s time for bed,

I want to dream to leave this world,

I text you tell you I want to evaporate,

I mean in the most innocent way

September 8

Th is is ve ry di ff ic ul tf or me

Id on tw an to sh ar ew it hy ou

wh at ju st ha pp en ed to me ic

ra dl el ik ea ca mp fi re fl am

es sc ar ed bu rn my se lf or br

ea th et he sm ok ea nd ch ok e.

September 6

I've heard that if you are in grad school you need

eighty hours of work

four hours a day to eat shit

the rest of your life

September 5

Self Portrait, September 2019

“I love you,” I remember

to tell the mirror

that but not this week

two weeks gone

beard scissors drawn

across my cheek

dipped chin down

finger thinned round crown

longing for length

acne shoulder scarred

pectorals triceps hard

I hardly own my strength

am I large enough?

trim that stuff

bend knees

I do not think I am a jail

pale

no cavities

“I love,” you remember

it was this early in September

September 4

Bus

I fall in love sitting on the bus again:
pretty, or something like it,
can I help it?

So I imagine our life together,
how it was what I needed all along,
until I, or maybe
someone else
at that stop before me,
pull the cord and the bell rings.
I step off and thank the bus driver.


September 3

No Adjectives Allowed

“No adjectives allowed,” like a park where only certain kinds of pets can get in,
taking our children out to play and to be judged by the other parents,
where even the philosophy that every parent knows best
how to raise their child is wrong because
there’s always someone else who knows “the best way” to do it,

then they grow up after we dress them, and at school the teacher reads them over
in a measured voice, trying to find out that you failed,
and maybe the other parents are just as worried about your judgment,
or maybe they’re too proud of what they’ve made and are parading
designer bags, newer phones, tougher skins, thinner bones,
but every child has some deficiency and can’t seem to make everyone happy
so the directions are to be more presentable, to not stick out too much,
when you leave the conference and have to get back home in the dark

the teacher says no fantasies, nothing supernatural, they have seen
too many pass through their fingers class after class and know
that you are not to be judged by what you did
that you are not as unique as you thought you could be
and we all make mistakes when we try too hard,

but there’s nothing quite like your children coming home
carrying every single bruise and cut and deformity,
covered in snot and hands needing to be washed and hungry again
for you to realize how unable you are to do anything about it.

February 24

A Softer Greg

This was, just like any winter, curiously
Just like every other winter in that
It was different enough from last year
That we felt the way that weather worked had changed.

This year snow fell but did not land,
Dusting my shoulder a softer color.
The taste in my mouth was my own breath,
Jacket hood pulled over hair
With nose beneath the collar.

Each underarm was over warm
And dampening beneath the layers
As I walked from my house, streets away,
Towards the destination shivering
Quietly