I watched ants consume a cricket on the floor of my apartment

they detached the back leg
from its joint,
pulling it out with
a pop.
they crawl away,
tugging at it as they go,
dragging the desecrated limb
from its corpse,
from its home.
they cheered,
antenna bobbing,
as they tore muscles
into smaller
and smaller chunks
until they each carried a piece
covered with saliva and bile
between their mandibles
to their queen

NaPoWriMo / GloPoWriMo Day 30

Inside the middle school band hall

different notes, different
frequencies, different songs –
solos, auditions, concert pieces –
every corner of the room reverberating
with sound
and sound
and sound
till words no longer
Day 16 of Na/GloPoWriMo
Prompt: a poem that features the idea of play.
This poem features the playing of music. It was inspired by my day subbing as a middle school band teacher. As a side note, I left the day with a headache but the music was beautiful.

My face is made up of poems I forgot to write

My relationship with myself has been
a lot of lipstick smudges on coffee shop mugs
and half-formed poems written
in journals I’ll never fill up.
I’ve forgotten my name a time or two
and I don’t always recognize my body
in the mirror in my bathroom.

I wonder if my blog
has become more of an
autobiography because I’m too
egotistical to let my memory be forgotten
whenever I die (something I’m afraid will
happen any day now – a car crash, a fire,
a suicide), so I try to explain
why I am the way I am
in similes and metaphors
because I don’t know how any other way
or how to make my lips form
the names of depression, anxiety,
selfishness, or otherwise.
My fingers have started bleeding at night
from trying to climb the walls
in my sleep because
they’re beginning to feel
more and more like the sides of a coffin
and I haven’t written enough poems yet.
Day 18 Na/GloPoWriMo

the watcher of my body

i am only the observer
to the blanketing gardens
that cover my thighs,
never the gardener, my hands
not steady enough
to plant seeds nor saplings
i turned my body over
to the queen, the bumblebees
so they might pollinate me,
make flowers from my skin,
pull honey from my diseased body,
bring me into their hive
and have their larvae feast upon
the poems i never wrote, the history
i never told, the flowers
i never had the courage to name.
Day 13 of Na/GloPoWriMo

The 1950’s lesbian pulp fiction bookcase at Recycled Books, Records, & CDs

each shelf filled with tales
of women lazily touching
each other’s thighs and forearms
with soft wandering fingers
in motel rooms and army barracks,
kisses hidden in shadowed moments,
hands held under the covers where
no one could see,
side glances in public spaces,
gentle hands cupping breasts late at night
with slow and gentle movements,
climaxes filled with women
screaming women’s names
and institutionalizations and suicides
because they used to say
no woman could be both
homosexual and happy


Day 7 of Na/GloPoWriMo

Once the government said you couldn’t publish gay porn because it would make readers gay. Maybe I read too much lesbian fanfiction growing up and that’s why I ended up gay. Or it could just be I was born this way, you know. I’ve been spending way too much money at this bookstore, buying as many books from this pulp fiction section as possible. Just to save them and to remember how things once were and how far we’ve come.

I’m not sure if I’m done with this poem. The end doesn’t feel quite there. Perhaps I need to add myself into the poem, an interaction with the books. But I also feel like it doesn’t need me in it. Hmmm. Thoughts for another day. Just glad I’m getting this up even if I’m not satisfied with it. Yay for posting drafts!

i planted Texas wildflowers

i planted Texas wildflowers

along the insides of my thighs
and soft skin of my stomach,
grown bluebonnets on my forearms
while Indian paintbrushes bloomed red
down my nose,
pink evening primroses sprawled
across my cheeks, brown eyed susans
flowered on the ends of my eyelashes,
soft blackfoot daisies blanketed my breasts
and tiny yellow tickseeds
sprouted between my toes

my body became a field,
covered in roots and blossoms,
and bathed in thunderstorms
and pollen until
it no longer resembled
limbs nor skin, forgetting
all thought and remembrance
of what was once my name
Day 14 of Na/GloPoWriMo

my reincarnation

i’ve built a bed from my cocoon 
of shed skin, i lay in it each night, 
listening to the whispering stories
it tells each time the breeze blows, 
i’ve been burning bits of it at night 
when the stars are hiding and it’s 
too dark to see myself 
but i’m running out of pieces, 
and the nights are getting darker 
and colder, and i’ve started shivering 
in my sleep, 
i lit my clothes on fire for warmth 
and my hair on fire for light, 
but neither were strong enough, so i touched 
the lighter to my body and let the fire 
take my skin, my bones, my blood 
until i became ash floating in the wind 
Day 11 of Na/GloPoWriMo
Prompt: a poem that addresses the future, answering the questions “What does y(our) future provide? What is your future state of mind? If you are a citizen of the “union” that is your body, what is your future “state of the union” address?”

Monday Afternoons

I sip my beer –
singing to the radio,
my neighbor slams cabinets closed
as he puts away his dishes-
my picture frames rattle against the wall –
upstairs, she’s teaching herself guitar again,
taunt strings screeching two chords over and over –
the cat paws at the window, his claws
dragging down the glass –
someone screams on the TV –
across the courtyard, a woman hanging up
damp towels on the railing shouts at her son in Mandarin
as he jumps on the stairs –
the car alarm in the parking lot begins again –
my phone buzzes with another notification –
I sip my beer again.

Day 10 of Na/GloPoWrimo

Prompt: Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem of simultaneity – in which multiple things are happening at once.

Little behind in my posting cause I’ve been handwriting things and just haven’t made it to a computer to type them up yet.

I had to cancel the exterminators

My cat’s taken to dining with my apartment’s ants.
I’m not sure when they became friends –
a 13 pound orange tabby and a hundred half inch insects-
but they’ve become rather close,
sharing meals and a home.

He invites them in while I’m away,
and they eat Frisky’s and watch
Animal Planet documentaries together.

They try to clean up before I get home,
but they sometimes forget to clear
the Netflix history or pick up
the beer bottles and crumbs.

I’ve  been trying to get him to
make new friends, but he says
no one else understands him,

so I stopped buying ant poison
and started buying sugar water and catnip
and set up a new “ants only” Netflix profile,
so maybe they’ll stop drinking all my alcohol
and ruining my to-watch list.


Day 9 of Na/GloPoWriMo


Prompt: write a poem in which something big and something small come together