Dunce tripe.

Tarnished tarmac, wind beneath the floorboards, and irreverent eccentrics dancing in the shadows like the campfire moonlight. Across the lake, I make out a pair of eyes; we make out in paradise.

Negligent barbers clip away, snip snip snip, and my head is barren with a shoulder-length phantom style.

“You look radiant tonight,” I said.

I flex and huff and make quite the commotion while you fixate on something off in the distance. It’s some kind of peace and tranquility, and I notice it once we walk there together. I didn’t mean to be so dense.

No boundaries.

I am elusive.

My clothes are skin-tight.

My head is shaved.

I bathe in butter and grease.

My limbs are detachable.

My body is a jetpack.

I am light.

I am air.

I am limitless.

River Jumper.

It was a fitful sleep. Birds chirped outside my window as dawn cracked over the horizon. The wind blew intermittently, and I faintly heard sirens in my drowsy haze. Neighbors chattered about nothing in particular, buses picked up disabled passengers, garbage trucks constantly backed up through their morning routes, and strangers in the parking lot blared their car stereos as they shined up their rides, rocking the same R&B tune over and over again, all summer long.

It’s a wonder I got anything done at all, and now I live in St. Paul.

Words Once Lived Here

Your blog
is a ghost town
of faded keystroke memories
corroded timestamps
and a harbinger of file corruption
infant words once lived here
and now they’ve grown


the competition of seven months past
a distant idea

a duel!
I challenge thee
once again

This Map is Broken.

This map is broken
All these roads and paths, overlapping
Who’s got the time?

How about this:

Tell me where you’ll be
I’ll meet you there. A quarter to 8?

If I’m late,
I’m lost

in many directions