rites of passage
The Globe, Athens, GA
May 9th 2025, graduation
summer-season stings
I have been given the cords and form of a man.
the church bells ring
it is graduation day- youth came and ran.
I don’t know how to meet what my society expects
which is so very little-
closer to the ideal, closer to being a wreck-
my body feels boundless but my spirit, brittle.
I encapsulate so much desire-
the cup spilleth over.
I want to throw it all in fanned fire
but I still hold on to these asinine three leaved clovers.
and yet today is a day of celebration,
a subdued orgy of potential.
me and my generation- nation’s creation
as proud roosters parading, deeply inessential
and yet I am a man.
my form and function, status and society say so
It is a deeply comforting lie- “did as I can”
and yet what joy to feel life’s flow.
walk through the door-
don’t grimace, you can’t return, anymore.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
Disinfecting my stomach
Delta hall
May 3rd, 2025
in between my tongue and my soul
I feel the intervention of 1000 years of decline
to write is to never be whole
it is to hold on to ideal’s line.
Did God intend to consummate holy union
in silicone, rubbers and plastic
we entered by moonlight into carnal communion
after I texted her- “u up?”- how orgiastic.
I could tell her my love
what good would it do?
I took the man’s strong shove
I broke when I threw.
weakness has no dignity; no wax, only wane
women are wont wretches to weave
there is no beauty in suffering and shame
when men’s meat-mountains topple easily- heave!
I’ll write thousands lines more
form and function worn-
bug’s corpse on the floor
cry dry tears to mourn.
take a drink for my story-
America’s worries.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
Lay of Loathing
May 3rd, 2025
good writers don’t sleep.
good writers are weak.
good writers aren’t cheap.
good writers are meek.
I feel the decadence writhing in my
veins like maggots in a fallopian tube.
writing- you let me escape.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
wave-calmer
To E.E.H.
May 3rd, 2025
waves hit on my heart’s edge
you walked my water
so much black mud to dredge-
we wanted daughters.