Hitting send as we speak — I work two jobs at the moment: part time admin and tutoring. I’m aiming for a third. Why, you ask? Because I want to do more than just barely survive. I want to do more than drag my feet from paycheck to paycheck only to one day cark it on…

Poetry Writing Contest Response — you make rings, orbits, circles repeating your false, fumbling steps in myriad ways — compulsively, full of bluster and purpose you are belligerent in your desire — what always feels so right is so dramatically wrong the bulls of Seville show more hesitation and tact you somehow eluded the cuckoo’s nest only…

Our rise and fall — Night’s mirror is merciless — burning through our games, piercing through our paltry tactics you go down with the sun in late defeat better learn to love the taste of losing better get used to it — expect it the sun has yet to avoid setting, succumbing to Night’s victory —…

This is almost too much to swallow — I have a friend who’s in the business of giving advice. Lots of fucking advice. Doesn’t matter if you are asking for it or not. My friend is giving it. Last time my friend shoved his unwanted advice in my face we got into an argument. …

You can bank on these — Grandma Smillew, grand-bearer of the innovative wit, Smillew Rahcuef, recently wrote a how-to guide on stretching out your 10 word stories on Medium in order to enlarge your earnings. As if there was anything that could ever be called LARGE when it came to potential Medium earnings. But let’s put…

On my knees in San Croce — this body I have on lease — I’m a renter only what’s it worth to me when I have to return it to that inevitable landlord, Earth, and walk off free, all loans forgiven? yet I clung to my weak throat under the exquisite ceiling of the Uffizi coughing up…

Sadistic office sports — Fuck if you knew what you were looking for — a plot, a pencil to write the damn plot— a reason for living, maybe a fucking pulse? but you were at work, where souls come to die where inspiring ideas commit daily suicide your boss suspected you of company treason …

Past the trolls and the fireflies — maelstrom of melancholy, where do you get your gravity? milky way seduction, cloying, hypnotic, inevitable Kali’s black hole of dead weight minutes do we come out of this storm transformed? or are we exhausted, exiled seekers badly misinformed? go ahead, drink my soul for dinner you will not go away…

Famished for claps — you are a Medium writer, you’ve published 230 pieces and have 91 aborted drafts — half-baked stories, languishing, stuck inside the birth canal, uncertain, tentative, shy — like this questionable piece, for example — this poem without a point or plot, this uncooked, ungrateful poem that can’t find a rhythm or narrative…