Nostalgia is irrational.

When I decided to travel the world, the first thing I did was leave my malice behind.

There's an old woman sitting in the corner of the bar. Her blue skirt flirts foolishly with the blood-red wall.

We have morning doves. Sparrows. And these orange-beaked birds that Karen spotted one afternoon and which gave her dreams that night about wild toucans and macaws and about two parrots—white and red—that adopted her as their mother when she said, ...

We got a lotta people ruinin' the public transit experience. Talkin' loud on cell phones, clippin' fingernails, even flossing their teeth.

Shining white glisten stones Tie us to true vows we throw Luring notes they never know Commit us to the great unknown Inspiration of flights of fancy Allow us freedom kept in secrecy Promised jewels tease with ecstasy Honors respect clothed in fantasy Circles of…

we went to together are now, according toyou, not to be believed. A memory of athought of a memory, of an arrow. There isno earth. There is no sun. There are no stars. All theplaces we went to together are to be paused,allowed to fade into never. The river is to be…

My mother loves Phil Collins. When my brother and I were young, she told us she was his back-up drummer, that he'd send a private helicopter to pick her up whenever he needed an extra hand. Though we never saw her leave, we decided drumming was in our blood, and…

When silence makes his way next to me on the narrow path, I let his arm brush mine, and I stop singing with the birds. So, in the vast forest filled with songs and rustling, silence and I follow our path to the edge. Two tranquil strollers, meditating on the ancient voices…

we wanted summer: Distillers at Myhalyk's all those cancelled shows

I don’t read. I don’t do the dishes. What am I? If I were more domesticated, I’d poop in the street. I’d lift my leg and pee on the bushes. I would chase after every ass in the hood and sniff them too. I wouldn’t fetch much. What am I? Wha

It doesn’t shuffle, wrapped in cotton,/ hungering for love and tana leaves.

It's all down to you. To every new morning's baby crying. Down to your blank notebook, all sides opening at once, hands like an ocean of birds.You standing there looking back at me from behind your chosen wall of love's newly made flesh. Your smile like blood…

If people were more loyal to me we wouldn't be having all these problems.

Were the coffee and gas not cheap,/ and in the case of the coffee, good,/ I’d never stop again.