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
poem
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.
September 20, 2026
absorbing
and digesting
and discovering
and recovering
and breathing through
this day following
our final day
it was bittersweet
it was a lot
i think i could have written a better reflection
while inside of it,
now i’ve had a night to dream strange dreams
and almost think about it
but not quite
not quite
i’m not in the moment, so i feel i can’t write about being in the moment
and i’m not really outside of the experience, so i can’t write about looking back
i’m in a limbo of experiences’ making
so i suppose i’ll talk about that
this liminal time between being knee-deep/
elbow-deep/
maybe in over one’s own head
in an experience
riding that wave
and
the time afterward where one can look back
to reflect on what one has done
in memories/contemplations/
from a bit of a distance
this liminal space of being part of something that has not yet disbanded
but not currently experiencing the thing experienced
anymore
i’m using a lot of words because i don’t know how this feeling actually feels in words
[i suppose
that’s why we use the term “liminal”
it means a thing/space/experience of being in-between
it means something that’s hard to put into words
because it will always be
in-between words
i’m experiencing between experiences
i’m living between moments —
between ‘during’ and ‘after’
it’s an awkward, growing-pains kind of place to be living,
and it won’t last forever
but i’m living in it
and riding it as far as it’ll go
because as soon as this feeling ceases
then the experience really is
fully
over
and i don’t think i’m ready for that
quite yet]
September 19, 2026
our bodies are so strong
even as we chafe and bruise
and ache and stiffen
we are still able to continue on
step by buffalo step
i know there is some sort of scientific reason
we can go and go and go —
if it’s adrenaline and/or cortisol
some bodily/muscular word that explains
how we’ve been built, over generations,
to be marathon animals
rather than sprinters
but i think there is also a spiritual reason
that artists can continue and continue and continue
as we sweat out buckets and get exhausted
and our buffalo seems to get heavier and heavier —
it’s the connection between us within the puppet
the connection between all of us in the herd
the connection between our animals and the humans surrounding
all of us hoping for the coming of a kinder, gentler, more buffalo future
these masses of wood and paper and burlap and erosion cloth
become alive the moment we connect
and we see and respect that life, that spirit
and walk with them
we are walking with them
will you walk with us?
September 18, 2026
i am so in love
with non-human persons
the animal companions we keep with us
the wild ones where i may never meet them
but i can watch on videos and capture
the tiniest portion of their soul to intermingle with my soul
for a tiny portion of time
and then let them go
the languages they speak without language
the emotions they express through their bodies and eyes
the understanding i think we share
but the knowledge that it may be my own inferences
my own imaginings
my own human narrative
and not reality
that i’m picking up on
it is humbling
it is momentous
it is a way to live in the moment
and stop thinking of oneself
and instead think about
connection
i am so in love with
the creatures on this planet
and i hope to someday connect with
and see the personness inside
and hear the breathing of
the trees and flowers and soil underground
in the same way i can with those with eyes
[i think all i have to do
is listen]
September 17, 2026
i wish i could bottle certain feelings
and uncork and inhale them when needed
last night i had a moment of utter bliss
looking around, watching adults and artists
puppeteering giant buffalo around a warehouse in brooklyn
everyone concentrating
everyone knowing
it’s an illusion but also a very real spirit
that makes this whole herd work
it’s art and community and hope and strength
and imagination and wisdom and belief
and i damn near cried because i couldn’t believe
this is real life
this is better than i could have imagined
my time on earth
would be spent
helping native persons
helping the earth
with art and performance and everything i have ever wanted to do
i suppose i’m inhaling that bottled sense again this morning
writing about it
trying to express with words what words cannot express
but can, perhaps, capture a sample
or imitate for future use
for when i feel lost
for when i feel depressed
for when i have no hope
i can remember one hundred and sixty? seventy? eighty? people
some inside a puppet
some outside observers
learners
like me
all with one goal in mind: create conversation
for the betterment of everyone on this planet
every person, human and non-human,
and doing it with
art
art that took teams and teams to imagine and map out
and build and construct
and put final touches on
and doctor and make better
and teams to map out routes and talk with other groups
and performers and city officials and advertise so more people
will see and continue a conversation we are creating
we, this team, all voluntary, all wanting to bring to life
this art, this stampede, this dream,
this imagining
this honoring
i hope those who see from the outside tomorrow and saturday
see what i saw yesterday
feel what i felt yesterday
that it’s amazing to be
here
now
with people
with buffalo
with hope
with art
with life
let us let the earth continue to provide this magic
let us help the earth
let us help the magic
