• Weltschmerz Doorbuster

    I remember you. I took you in when you didn’t want me to. Shelter from the riders on the storm. But it seems now my tourniquets are deadly. Feel too much you don’t want to feel anything, staunch the wound and the poison too, keep all that sickness inside.

  • bleeding heart

    Halloween sneaked up again. I’m still not used to the 80s in October, a blood warmth that belies to me only July, a summer that lasts forever.

  • Good Night, Sweet Boy

    I consider the calculus, how many steps to the stage, the likelihood of distraction with all the crowd smells and ground noms, what if someone careens into the aisle right on top of him?

  • Rainy Drought

    The City of Austin doesn’t have tornado sirens. Instead our phones blow up at godawful o’clock with perpetual flash flood warnings and looming coffins.

  • New Orleans!

    My last and only time in the Crescent City, I was 20, a roadtrip pilgrimage to goth Mecca with Anna and Bennett to poke through cemeteries, corset shops and dance floors, adamant we had no interest in stalking Anne Rice.

  • I said yes

    In June 2011 I said yes when Bree cajoled me into coming to the Twin Cities Improv Fest afterparty, like we were the cool kids, not superfan creepers.