talking to our dog
even though she only understands
some
english words and vocabulary
and seeing her head
tilt
to try to understand everything we’re saying
we’re trying to communicate
when all we’re really trying to do
is get her to get a toy
to bring to us
so we can all play
but her ability to remember where any toy is
is far worse than her understanding of language
so we say the name
and sign the sign
and she looks around
just past the toy we have in mind
confused
and whimper-barks for help
stamping her little puppy feeties
until we stand
and point
and grab
and then she gets so excited
for doing it right/for being able to play once more
and we all do it
all over again
and again and again
every morning
and every morning
it brings me such
joy
Month: September 2026
September 29, 2026
let’s write first
before we get caught up
in the weeds of the day
let’s write first
before we start recording
all the facts and figures
let’s write first
before we forget what creativity
feels like in the hustle and bustle
let’s write first
before it’s already nighttime
and the sads take over
let’s write first
before other needs are met
because creation
itself
is a need
so let’s create
by writing
first
September 28, 2026
i keep feeling
about to
something is
about to
happen
a big thing is
about to
come
i am
about to
get inspired
but i’ve been feeling the
about to’s
for quite some time
maybe my whole adult life
i’d like to take some of this control
back
into my own hands
it’s not something
about to
take me away
without my consent
without my active
participation
this time
it’s something
i am
about to
do
maybe that’s the best kind of
about to
September 27, 2026
very little sleep
each of us needing
something different
kip passing out quicker
when there’s noise
a show or a song or
something to cover up the
drip
drip
drip
of the inconsistent rain
and i need quiet
preferably absolute silence
or
enough noise to all meld together
into a wash of nothingness —
i want it to rain harder,
then i’d fall asleep instantly
but the drip
drip
drips get to me too
and the show or music
take too much brain and i
feel i need to concentrate
[how can i feel so sleepy
just lying horizontally, but the minute
there’s a distraction, i feel like i’ll
never sleep again?]
September 26, 2026
merge me with another version of me
that knows me and can help me include me in my own life
because, damn, sometimes i feel i’m on the outside looking in
reading about it later from its novel format
only getting highlights and lowlights
and not sticking with myself through thick and thin and median
but if i know me i know the me that’ll keep going
and i think i am them
i think
i am
me
September 25, 2026
how has it only been one week
since we stampeded
through lower manhattan
a week ago this time, we still didn’t know what it was like
to be inside our buffalo for two hours
going
and going
in humidity so oppressive
i sweat more than i ever have
in my life
a week ago this time, we still had training to do
and things to learn
and choreography to go over
a week ago this time, we still felt inside it
did not know what it would seem like
from the outside
what the actual event would be like
how the public would react
honestly, how we would react
how has it only been a week?
how was it only one week?
how was it only one week to train and learn and form community
and honor and become alive become a herd
get to know our particular bison so
that they each got names and were loved
absolutely loved
by each and every puppeteer?
i often joke that i don’t understand how time works
that it’s wibbly wobbly
that it’s not linear
that it’s quangled
that it’s a mortal construction
and that time is far beyond our mere understanding of it
but damn
one week feels like too long and not long enough
and an entire eternity can take place in one week
in one two hour chunk
in one moment of a styrofoam eye glancing towards
a toddler who screams “the buffalo looked at me!”
memories make our own infinities
and i hope, for everyone who experienced the buffalo
they can look back and live in a memory
for as long as they need
for even longer than the week it took to make them come to life
[i should look up how long it took to physically make
each and every
one…]
September 24, 2026
i am not ready for fall
i’m still trying to wear summer outfits
in 46 degrees
and shivering
i am not ready for fall
the night comes too early
and i simply want to
sleep
i am not ready for fall
the semester started with
a bang
and has yet to fizzle to something seeming
comfortable/doable for longer than looking
week
by week
i am not ready for fall
physically
mentally
emotionally
but something inside me says
it’s time for fall
some unknown piece that i have yet to identify
a cyclical part
or a section connected
deeper to the earth than i could have expected
could have written about before the fall
overtook me
but
i am not really for fall
and yet
in at least one way
i think i am ready for fall
and i’ll rely on that readiness
to lead me into the darkness
of autumn to winter
to too busy and too cold to do anything
to discomfort and cycles and sadness
so that i can be oh so ready when spring comes
to pick me back up
and who knows
maybe something exciting will come this season
we won’t know until we go
so
okay
i suppose
i am [somewhat] ready for fall
September 23, 2026
morning page poems are such a wild ride
because i sit down at a screen and start to write
and have zero words
[well, technically three, as i date every entry]
and i begin to write
and no matter how many words i put into the document
the word counter never seems to go beyond 150
and with a 300 word goal, this is agonizing
so i sludge and trudge through this sand dune of letters
never seeming to become full words that count
and i write and write and write and write
and eventually i forget to check the word count —
i get lost in a poem or a memory or a simple phrase
and before i know it, i’ve gotten multiple poems down
and i glance at the word count, and it’s approaching 300
not quite there yet, but i get a sense of sadness, that soon i will achieve the 300 word mark
and that means i no longer need to be writing
[not that i’d stop myself from continuing on, it’s just a weird feeling of disappointment, that i won’t actually
need to be writing anymore in a moment]
and then
i get lost again
in a poem/word/thought/phrase/memory/something
and i glance down at the word count
and i’ve gone well beyond 300 words
[just now i hit 500, in case you’re wondering]
and i wonder if i’m feeling like my morning pages are done
i wonder if i’ve got anything that i’m willing to post to share
into the ether/the void/the possibility of it being read
though so few people actually do look to read
every
single
day
but i do
do this
every
single
day
and tomorrow morning the journey will probably be the same
but the words/phrases/poems/thoughts/discoveries
will not be
and i think that’s neat.
September 22, 2026
if you are reading this poem from far into the future
don’t let those who write the history books convince you
that this was a golden era of plenty
it was not
it absolutely is not
things are really really really bad right now
but don’t let them convince you that everyone was
dour
sad all the time
doing nothing
having no happiness
we find joy
we find joy
it’s what keeps us going/living/fighting for the future
for you
the black and brown folks i know
the immigrants and citizens
the neurodivergent and disabled
and all my queer kin, we can find
happiness in even the bleakest of places
it’s what makes us so resilient
it’s what makes us all worth fighting for
even when we give up on
fighting for ourselves, we
continue on, fighting for
each other
and that, i believe, is one of the most beautiful things
about our community
[and what those in power
absolutely lack]
so
things are bad
no one has enough money to truly live
ice is terrorizing everyone
no matter immigration status
our rights are being stripped away
and we are absolutely aware of it
and
we dance in the streets
we find someone to hold at night
we feed our dogs and our cats
and our fish/birds/lizards/other animals
sometimes before we feed ourselves
we care for each other
and seem to continue passing around the
same twenty dollars
ad infinitum, but damn, that twenty dollars
can make a difference in someone’s week
and we play games
and we check in
and we let each other know when we’ve
gotten home safely
and we meet strangers whom we know
care about people
and we give our knowledge to them
we give our trust to them
because we know we cannot continue
without others
and others cannot continue
without us doing our part
it sucks
and it’s joyful
and we’re working so hard against
those who would take everything away
for a lackluster feeling of power and a hoard of
fake monetary wealth
but we are concentrating on each other and the joy right now
those who suck can continue to fuck up humanity in their little gated communities
and giant white houses
here is where the party is
and the party is
revolution
September 21, 2026
as much as i joke
that i hate people
i really do
do a lot of things
to help out
people
and care
so hard
about people
and my life’s purpose seems to be
helping people
healing people
slowly
one by one
conversation by conversation
just making people feel
listened-to
and heard
i hate when other people don’t do what i do
don’t really truly listen
but then, if they all did
i’d have no purpose in this world
would i?
~~~
[but there are too many people
in this world
to heal
and too much to heal
in one conversation
why can’t people just
be
kind?]
~~~
the older i get
the less i look for
fame
and my name
in lights
and other goals i had myself convinced
i needed to make my time
here on this planet
count
those were always a means to an end
the end being healing
the end being feeling listened to
and i can do that better one on one
than with a large fan-base
anyway
so kindness is what i look for
and what i hope to leave
on this planet
i really do intend to leave it
better than i found it
and if that means taking each person i meet
and making them feel
important to me
then that’s good because
they are.
