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 10, 2026

i love when the words just flow just drip just pour
from my fingertips without squeezing
without pushing
without forcing
like they were always meant to be there
in that order
with that meaning

[can i have more
of that
please?]

July 22, 2026

i’m writing so many words today
figuring things out in my brain i
didn’t know i needed figuring out

through poetry
and allegory
and just straight up facts

the coffee has hit the tastebuds
but i’ve written so fast
i think it hasn’t yet hit the bloodstream
or brain
quite yet

i didn’t know i didn’t know i didn’t know
i needed to process these particular things
but that’s why morning page poetry is so useful:
sometimes you sit down to write
and you just write about how much you’re
not writing
and sometimes you sit down to write
and discover secrets that you had hidden
from even
yourself

now to process the processing…

July 17, 2026

writing gibberish
writing balderdash
writing silliness and illegible things and nothing at all

writing not only to have written
but to feel the feeling of writing

writing to wake myself up and warm myself up for the day
that probably won’t include more writing
[but you never know…

you
never
know]

July 15, 2026

i write poetry
every
single
day
and i wish i wrote
other things
almost
every
day
too
and the easiest would be
storytelling
through
the poetry
but whenever i try to stray from facts
my whole body and soul
completely rejects it
until i cannot even fathom
putting anything out there
that is not 100%
verifiable

July 12, 2026

tiny books and booklets
and notebooks and scraps of paper
and bound and unbound pages
everywhere
everywhere
everywhere

what will i ever do with all these writings?

[what will i ever do with this digital equivalent as well?]

June 25, 2026

i wish i could think of all the words i can’t think of right now

i wish i could recall all the vocabulary that’s in my head
but they’re stuck behind sticky mind-doors
where the mental wood has warped over the years of trauma
and protecting myself against trauma

the maze in my mind
simply to find
a fucking synonym
is atrocious

[i measure out how detrimental it is to the poem
if i should sit and think, and perhaps get lost in my own thoughts
or stop and look it up on the internet, and thereby lose the spell i cast
on my own poetry being sans-internet-influence,
or ask my kip
or set a reminder to go back and check
at a later time…

usually i set a reminder in the way of brackets around one word
and hope i can find the exact alternate
i thought i could think of
at the time of writing]

June 18, 2026

beautiful words
about ugly things
i wish i could write like my thoughts were cursive
calligraphy
a cartography of trauma set in gorgeous handwriting

but i’m a type-writer
printed and sure
un-erasable blank ink holding
my most ephemeral thoughts
not beautifully tragic
but solidly uncertain words
in the most permanent of ways of writings
we use today

[but nothing will survive the heat death of dominicus
right?]

June 17, 2026

it’s always so fascinating to me
watching my poetry
slide from one subject matter
[an introductory topic, if you will]
into the underlying
what-it’s-really-about
as if my conscious brain
*almost* gets it
but *always* needs to let the
subconscious brain take over
to get to the heart of the matter
[and if i try to control too much —
with form or function or rhyme or
look — the underlying message can’t come out;
or still does, but ruins whatever basis i had
laid out] and this pattern, of
almost-but-not-quite-knowing what my poetry will really
be containing, is like watching a movie of your own life
in front of you — you know what it was like behind your eyes
but from this third-person vantage, it’s all a little off
a little wild
a little unsettling in its
potential comfort,
but still entertaining
because of the new
perspective

that’s what my morning poetry is like
for me, most
mornings