June 20, 2026

the content of our content
matters less than the
clicks it amasses
and i guess i’m just too tired
to care about algorithms and
search engine optimization and
making myself into a brand or whatever

i’ve only been around thirty-some-odd years
but i feel as though i’ve lived a hundred of those
[and yet i only have the total memory of like five,
so interpret all my complaints however you will]
so i’m not going to waste my time with clickbait
and playing a game for an entity i think
could bring good
but is currently
absolutely
not

i’m not against the internet
i’m against how it’s being used and utilized
by the vulture class

[might i not actually be against capitalism, but instead
against how it’s being used and utilized
and structured and exploited
by the vulture class, too?]

[maybe at its basest definition

but capitalism has changed meanings
as it means now — accumulation of wealth for the wealthy
by feeding off consumerist culture
and the only way it stays stable is to
grow
fast
exponentially —

i’m definitely against all that.]

but a tirade against capitalism isn’t how this poem started
[that is how many of my poems end]

i’d love to be assessed for the content of my content
not the number or type or flashiness of the thumbnail

[though, in the end, we’re all left screaming into the void
and the void never ever
calls back]

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

January 30, 2022

not knowing what to write
from day
to day
makes the flow of
‘i don’t know what to write
day to day’
both overdone
and
sparklingly new

like, if one looks at the
subject matter,
the themes between the lines,
it all kind of
muddles together,
but the ways i go about
expressing
these same subjects
can sometimes have
lives
within the poems themselves.
like the tempo of
‘it’s been days since i knew what to write’
is much slower than the pacing of
‘i’m itching for something to write about
and i feel on a precipice
about to find
it’
and the stuttering step of
‘who am i and what do i write’
clashes at its core with
‘i’m figuring out
that it’s ok
if i don’t know what to write
from day
to day
to day,
i’ll just write
and write
and see what happens
and what writings
may sling
from my head
to my fingertips
to this [formerly] blank document page
before my bespectacled eyes’

and that,
i find,
is the difference.