May 16

Maybe you’ll be the last ~ wouldn’t that be something.


May 20

What an interesting experiment, trying to be friends with you ~ what society requires: a degree of availability, a repository for secrets ~ an endless stream of dispatches are precarious yet observance of constraints made by characters ~ we need protection from ourselves as well as others ~ to explore possible points of entry: a doorway, a sill made of hard wood or stone, a page is a field of updates, a relationship mapped ~ in mimicking a sympathetic resonance an empty platform should be easy ~ to navigate I count connections as kills of war, a jaw’s heart clenched and shook, concluding: we are not suitable partners ~ but I generally prefer avoidance, recording, a diary as a place of reckoning, reconciliation, wherever you find yourself ~ I’ve made mistakes but sometimes I fear you’ll uncover them first.


May 27

The first time I heard, faces, the computer fan running on our own measured frequencies ~ high-pitched in the periphery, wind-driven ~ then their voices became murmurs, blurred in the dim of an apartment’s long hall ~ if we could train ourselves to ignore footsteps on wood, laughter passed through a curtain, their register equal to falling ~ glass, in depression strangely comforting, lacking control, laid blameless, sharp ~ the way an air conditioner erases other noises, letting us forget ~ expectant yet in surprise a  disappointment laden  ~ the first time I heard ~ we can’t live here anymore.


May 29

Then an organ played holding ~ the same low, a note ~ a drone sustained for a time, as when tuning, or an organ aborted, as a thing crushed out ~ to worry a heart erratically, wrung ~ what means by which to run as a carriage, a rib cage houses ~ a hollow, I hope you’re not leaving softer than hammered ~ are those strings or a motor ~ what favor, perception, because of me ~ what we expect of instruments versus machines, composition or a mechanical humming ~ unlike other animals, who are sometimes silent, which is enviable ~ a small metal, a rubber, or leather is mute ~ or a buzz, if laced ~ I couldn’t remember ~ spinning


{marginalia} batting lessons

there are many ways to swing a bat / upon entering

a stance shift inward / to allow greater freedom

as a shoulder closes / hips turned hands, rolling

hands held near the body to leverage the letters

and heart, weighted / the sweet spot when hitting

held a certain / appeal, to break a game wide, wanting

to hurt or to make the sound open the stride bringing

me home, often against my will / the ever increasing

tendency to run / let me sinkerball before it / drops

before it fully / toward a safer territory slightly

knees bend waist / when part of it becomes the middle

eyes simultaneously or a square, read: spin / and

speed / try caring and see if anything / connects

if missing acknowledge such objects will never intersect:

keep my head down, stay inside and barely say a word


{marginalia} the definition of pressure, 1

the first time I heard, we can’t live here

anymore a column of liquid / I was trying to be

friends with you / subrogation of pleasantries

wrapped in ice / where force is expressly forbidden

a reliance on empathy, a toothache a mistake

parsed into pieces, re-imagining possible outcomes

across arbitrary sections of fluid words turned

like blades / nowhere to go but through / if I

didn’t feel distress / didn’t give a fuck

machine begging / for what no one else would say