top of page

a poem i wrote after u told me to listen to 'i think im paranoid' by garbage



I think im paranoid

a shadow of your hand stretched out to mine in the curtains?


a branch.


a rock at my window? oh romeo oh romeo?



a bird hit the glass. 




your eyes, they are red?



onions, allergies.







bend me,

break me,

anyway you need me


you have a neat room




but there’s too many books


smell like my reveries of you



absorbed into the leaves


with your cup of coffee poured over them

on That chair in That corner, or-

at your library in the middle of nowhere in iowa

why did you choose to go there?

on the q train to prospect park for your internship 

when we were in the same city but never saw each other.




you are a double entendre that I’ll never be certain you meant


a stare into the wall with eyes that say who fucking knows what

 before carefully planted,


meticulously specific 

codified deviations,

that make your honesty complicated.



i nailed my faith to the sticking pole




fridge handles,

chocolate mustaches,


teethmarks in the cake.



with my plastic bag of metal that smells like



“put it in the old couple’s trash bin down the block before my parents are home”


-  clorox wipe it all down,

- collect their cigarette butts

- put the mangled pillows back

on the basement  couch,


-comb your tousled hair,

-                                        pull your shirt up.


still I smell of barley,



and I forgot one of the PBRs he left on my kitchen counter





my mother’s eyes still glance down at my patchy neck


bottom of page