trans, nerd.


November 2016

Across from St. Alkmunds 

The lights linger here,

To give one time

For reverential gawping

And low-headed wishing

To the deaf and disappeared.


Memory Lanes

From a seat of high learning,

A slow stroll winds past

The dentist who took my teeth,

The church which lost my faith,

House after house

Of hedonistic miseries past,

A convergence of mes,

I find myself standing

In a well-made suit,


And never further from myself.

November Low Day

Every outing a colossal undertaking,

Every job an unbearable chore,

Each friendly phone-call

An exasperating trespass on time.

Spitting sudden and unreasonable anger,

Full of apologies but always too late.



A loose end drifting

To new and old haunts

Where the scenery has changed,

Yet the location is the same.

My mind wanders 

To the cusp of sleep,

Again and again and again.

The tea is now cold

But I drink it-

I find I like it, rather-

And just like that 

I’m another day like my father.


All Saints’ Day arrives,

The costumes

Stashed away another year.

Black cat’s green eyes blink.

Alone, the winter darkness

Walks in uninvited.

Feelings, all too familiar,

On black coattails,

Hitch and bewitch.

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