December 27, 2025

just past my house
on the dead-end street it lies upon
is a strange sort of
Wishing Well
and, well, it never grants wishes
instead it grants
Fears

but the nice thing is
most of our fears
are far worse in our heads
than they ever are
in real
life

so my fear of spiders
erupted
but didn’t bury me
as i’d assumed it would

and my little brother’s fear of losing his favorite toy
of course happened by him
dropping it in
but it was the late nineties by then
and his tonka truck was available
at any toys r us
and it “magically reappeared”
the next
morning

and my friend’s fear of
losing her grandfather
of course happened the minute she touched
the side of the well
but she also got to say goodbye to his spirit
which stopped by
at that very spot

so

so

well

i guess

what i’m trying to say is…

now that my fear is societal collapse
and ultimate armageddon,
but i also can’t see how we’ll get out of this
very rough point in history
without it
i’ve been thinking about that
Fearing Well
a lot
and wondering
if it’s still just past my parents’ old house
on that dead end street
and if believing in the magic of the object is enough
to cancel out the fact that
this fear is now
a wish
as well

November 14, 2025

i think it’s so fascinating
that i’ve found a way
to expand from “write what you know”
to “don’t let too much out about your inner mind”
where my black and white thinking was fully vacillating between
creative nonfiction
memoir/essay/this needs to be fact-checked as well as can be
and
i need to write a story that has never happened
i need to write a story that has never been written
i need to 100% make this up or it’s cheating or cheapened in some way
and
both options overwhelmed me so

so

i found a way to springboard off of my past and thoughts and events
and land in the ether of “this definitely isn’t my personal experience”

i never knew it could be so easy
to be so
creative
[and to let it flow
in the way it does]

September 22, 2024

the disappointment i feel in my own government
in my own daily interaction with the people of this country
or even the world

maybe i should start writing fiction more
just to be able to be around the people i enjoy
and in spaces where i’m not
constantly hounded by the existential depression of
“this could be so much better
but it just
isn’t”

September 14, 2021

stress and
apprehension and
a desire to make these poems
go somewhere.
i’m constantly plagued
haunted by
itching with the possibility
of a full story
expanding
under a reader’s nose
(what was that one book?
Green Angel?
something like that?
where it was poetry
that unfolded
into a complete story?)
and i want these Morning Poems
to tell my story,
but how can they
when my story isn’t done yet?
i may be right at the beginning
i might be hella in the middle
but one thing’s for certain:
life is messy
and stories are good or bad in how they’re told,
not the stories themselves,
especially when they’re true
honest
nonfiction.
it’s the fiction that gets the nice, neat bow at the end;
life blurs around the edges
try hard as you might
to color inside the lines
so embrace the chaos
cacophony
quandary
(and, of course, let your imagination ride out
the potential
of telling a portion of this story
your story
in this form you’ve happened upon…
maybe there is a way to tie up
the loose ends
of a fraction
of your tale.
in fiction,
of course)