trans, nerd.


June 2015


Turn up drunk on the doorstep,
Bearing a gift for yourself.

Proceed to the sitting room,
Drinking your gift to your health.

Collapse in the bathroom,
Take out fittings and ignore the mess.

Leave chaos and hate in your wake,
Just as long as you leave the next day.

We will fix the mess but you should not return,
You are never welcome again.
We don’t like to be burned.


Hero Type

I’m on watch but
I’m not looking,
I am right here,
Now I’m not,
I am something
Out of nothing,
I am nothing
Out of something,
I am lost and found and broken
I will rest inside my shell
And dream of things and others.
And hell.

Here Lies the Notnow

The legs blur for nervous attention
And nothingness, flatness, and tension
Hold sway over the day.
Waiting out the countdown,
The return home,
The sundown,
The drift
And the wake
End the day.

May Crown

The shattered face on Crown Street
Blinks tattered lids
While the dolls in its eyes
Rot away.
Broken teeth leer down May Street,
A brief parting sneers,
A gust of nothing escapes,
Walks the day.

Turn and Wave

What fresh twist is this,
This bliss,
Is this forever?
Can I stay this way,
This great,
Can I believe it?
No, I know, the way it goes,
The way life flows,
The waves I know,
They go.

Childless On Purpose

Don’t look at me like
I’m lost
Or confused,
I know I’ve chosen
Paths from you,
So don’t pity me,
Shun me,
I’m not forlorn.
Societal pressure,
Familial guilt,
These are not reasons to spawn.

Top Floor

An attic,
A life of storage,
Of staring blankly
At wetly webbed walls.
For amusement,
Through abusement,
For a moment,
For a muse.


I know her well.
Her inquisitive mind,
The tales she tells,
The beauty she draws,
A comic as well.
She loves a good wine,
Has a fine sense of smell,
Her penchant for books.
I know him so well,
His dark ruminations
Drag them both through all hell.

Crackle Jacks

The speakers hum and thrub,
Crackle as passing traffic
Briefly shakes the jacks
And makes for dark distortion.
In a week-long evening,
Staring at the flat twenty-four
Shaking with quaking thumb
Camerawork, revulsion.
The melancholic spiders,
Settled in the darkened corners
Now spread their legs and walk.

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