every day
i learn something new
or see something in a way i
never knew to look at
and perhaps that’s the point of being human
or at least the point
of calling myself
a poet
every day
i learn something new
or see something in a way i
never knew to look at
and perhaps that’s the point of being human
or at least the point
of calling myself
a poet
one year ago i was so apprehensive
of the impending twenty twenty five
i wept the day of the eve
fearing the worst
not even letting myself hope for the best,
the best i could hope for
was survival
and i did survive this horrid year
[and had some lovely adventures
within it]
but i can’t close out this year without acknowledging
the lives lost
and livelihoods/health/sanity thrown away
due to the ultimate greed of
just a few
just a few
who make decisions
for the many
the many who
they don’t even care about
ceos
and presidents
and random fuckbags who like to set social media sites
on fire
for fun
should not have the choke-hold they do
on our society
and while i can complain
and condemn
i do not want to be like them
so instead i’ll say:
human beings matter
and deserve fair treatment
from the immigrant
to the trans child
to any person with darker skin than the congressional average —
being white
or male
or christian
or rich
or cis
does not make anyone better or more adept to make decisions for the rest;
for human beings contain multitudes
and each human knows what’s best for themselves
but not
for others
and i truly believe
if left to our own devices
and to our own community-based natures
we’d err on the side of righteousness
and kindness
so, even though twenty twenty six
may be filled with the same
cult leaders
and snake oil salesmen
and fearmongers
and dictators,
let us band together
in our local communities
to show each other
we care
[and we have the power
to say no
to white supremacist
racist
transphobic
bigoted
propaganda
disguised as
nationalistic
“history”
we can know
our own
true history
and we can work together
to make the future
so much better
than any of these old
unimaginative
dinosaurs
know what to do with]
[here’s to a wonderful
and kind
and free
2026]
we had a Giant Money Tree
for quite some time —
it arrived in brooklyn
and survived cat bites
and a big move
and multiple winters
and me not taking quite as good care of it
as i probably could have
and then a leak upstairs to down
and the cutting up of the ceiling
and drying it all out
with giant industrial fans
it was doing alright
but one wrong angle
it came toppling down
and it didn’t survive much longer after that
so we mourned it
and held our space where it used to thrive
put a snake plant there
but it doesn’t feel quite right
and finally
a year and a half
maybe two
later
we got a Little Money Tree at ikea
and hopefully this one
will thrive just like its predecessor
and hopefully hopefully hopefully
it will survive long past
how old the passed money tree lasted
because we now know
that industrial fans
are called so
for a
reason
how high would you fly
knowing you must, eventually, fall?
could you resist the sirens’ call
convincing your flawed human brain
you might just resist it all?
could you throw yourself, knowingly, into the sky
just to see what the view is like up there
just to prove yourself mighty
for a moment?
or could you stay down on the ground
safe
but knowing you’d never know what the clouds taste like?
i’ve always used poetry
to warm up for writing prose
but last night i wrote prose,
and this morning feel invigorated
to write poetry once more
and perhaps it is not the type of words i type
but instead simply the act of writing itself
which warms and invigorates and excites me
for future writings
[perhaps
perhaps
perhaps
i can call myself
a writer]
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
i’m not really feeling writing
but i’m not really feeling
not writing
either
guess i’ll just
meander about this document
with words
[because that’s not writing
but it’s definitely not
not writing
right?]
running through my head are
the carols kip included in
their hocus focus holiday lofi
that they made in record time
[the app as well as the ditty itself]
and the silly, almost spooky song
of lionel richie
remade for the land of lego
[and my nyc v/o debut]
and was this poem just a sneaky way
to share this house’s kipmas sucesses
with whomsoever reads this poem?
well, yes.
eves are still for
excitement and
possibilities
no matter how old i grow
or how pessimistic i think i’m becoming
i still have the idea for what could be
just on my vision’s horizon
[i hope i never lose that]
so tired of all this allergy
or whatever it is
that’s making me puff up
like some sort of
animal balloon
first lips
then eye
then one little finger
will the rest of my body
fill
with hot air?
or am i going to be
deflated
soon?