sad ways to pass time

a playground pioneer

i mapped out

the surrounding

lands of the little

just so i know

where i can go

to smoke at 5

and never find you

to the girl with the baby blue luggage

oh darling, you look tired

have you been traveling long?

you have the look

the corners of your eyes

wrinkle and shine

your toes want to leave

baby powder on carpets

your things are folded neatly

everything in its place

although you are so transient

please consider my offer

of perching you

on your stack of luggage

i can sing to you

and it will be so sweet and safe

and you may even find me

a small place as a guest

in that big empty room

before you unzip your files

and decompress

we can scream and sing

and the noise will

bounce back to us

in your hollow home

wrapping around four ears

like a bandage, holding it in

and everything

everything will be fine

memorial day isn’t for people that need to forget

with the homeless I sat
and named all the pigeons
but I had no adam
because my task
came after the fall

pipe eulogy: bowlympia

My dear bowlympia --

you spoke to me before you smoked for me. this little head shop in olympia, place of your conception. I looked for twenty minutes, and nothing. so I listened - I stopped looking - and I heard you. you were perfectly made, shaped, and priced. cobalt glass with green and gold stripes. with specks of real gold. but nothing gold can stay.

my brother made this, said the head shop owner when he picked you up. youre kidding! I said. you were such a labor of love, and i loved you. you didn't even need a screen.

I'm sorry I left you at that party last night. I didn't mean to. it had nothing to do with that other glass I was carrying with me. it was just a one hit thing, it doesn't mean anything to me. I don't even know its name.

bowlympia, I'm truly sorry. when I took you out today, picked you up from that coffee table, and said to you, and to ryan, 'oh bowlympia I'll be so said if and when I lose you. dont you hate that? how everythings ephemeral?' these are the daily conversations I have that jynx me. I'm so sorry, I didn't even know it was a curse.

you met your demise on the fucking stairs of the campus center, you just leaped out of my bag, like a dog running into the street, not knowing how those linoleum stairs can hit you like a semi. You, perfect in every way and a precious treasure I brought back from the west coast, getting killed by my messy purse and the weed-unfriendly campus that you graced with your presence.

this is a wake up call. I need to straighten up and leave this place. thank you for having your final act be one that opened my eyes. thank you for everything. especially the resin.

I'ma see you in weed heaven.

shayna it will get better i promise

i woke up and there was an avalanche in my bed
resumes, pamphlets on resumes
calls, not returned
but the biggest boulder of all
trickled out of the radio
and broke my solar plexus
broken but shining
like a tiny gem refracting life for eternity
your voice came through
raspy, tired, but ever languid
liquid, beautiful even with chemo
you ask yourself, Henry
what is going to make you feel best?
i gather up the pieces of my chest
and, hiding behind steam
jam them back in place
hot streams loosening the void
gasps and cries resonating off white tiles
refracting, amplifying into the dark waters of forever