i read the news today oh boy

now i'm mournful like a coltrane ballad, shivering despite five blankets, wishing for sleep to knock me out because dreams make more sense to me.

the last conversation we had he laughed out loud because i asked in a secretive kind of way if he'd ever seen someone die.. but the thing was that he had and i had. and i can remember both of us trying to say more, fetching for old things buried in the ground. it was the haunted night at the old miami, the night of my graduation party- the last time a lot of people saw alicia.

evan, i'm writing and hoping it appears on some ancient tablet in the stars and you'll read this and know that i'm sorry.

inspired by the bathroom stalls of childhood

(Artist: Robin Rhode)

cold blooded meal times

You're different now.. the difference between ink and graphite, sand and glass. You're edible now, we'll eat you up .. out of desperation or courtesy, trying to take in your secrets with our gnashing teeth and golden eyes. We dine a biblical meal of you with the taste buds of the elderly not the sensitivity of the children we once were, we're hungry. We're sorry we're hungry. We're sorry. We heap salt upon you more by the day and four packets of sugar if we prefer you in the morning. Once we caught a strand of your hair, caught it in the back of our dry throats and maybe we would have died if we hadn't reached back with long fingers to clear the blockage all the while knowing your hair was like a spaghetti noodle that ended with a big kiss in that movie, the one with the dogs. We're starving. We'll lick our own blood off a knife.