Where did you get that penchant for destruction in the way you talk?
I am reminded
of the size of your hands
and that I didn't stand a chance...
it was 2012
and I needed to be reminded
to stay alive.
you understandably couldn't be bothered
to say hello or goodbye.
then yesterday
your laugh like a radio flare,
of the size of your hands
and that I didn't stand a chance...
it was 2012
and I needed to be reminded
to stay alive.
you understandably couldn't be bothered
to say hello or goodbye.
then yesterday
the gods of the algorithm
handed me a salsa podcast you were on.
handed me a salsa podcast you were on.
your laugh like a radio flare,
your fidgeting words folding into percussion,
taunting me adorably.
so I went west
to die
for the ninth time.
the silence kills me slow
while life kills me fast.
taunting me adorably.
so I went west
to die
for the ninth time.
the silence kills me slow
while life kills me fast.
Solidarity Saves Lives
Read at Beyond Baroque Theater, 9/6/25
We were about to take the stage
at the NYC Poetry Festival,
and I was nervous as shit,
because it had been a minute
since I had done this dance,
but then Demyan leaned into me
and said "I am fucking nervous, dude."
Double cheeseburgers, but why not double hotdogs?
Sarah with an H
is a coffee addict
and a community activist.
Sara without an H
is a 33-year-old daydreamer,
who may be a self-hating nepo baby.
I burped up bad poems
between the two of them
until two in the morning.
Beating cancer is the best pick-up line,
but I don't use it,
because I don't want to jinx it back into my body.
We smoke weed, drink coffee,
and they ask me about my podcast,
which I downplay expertly.
Instead, I ask them
some of the questions,
welcoming their anecdotal answers.
Nothing happens
and it makes all the difference
in all of our already-forgotten futures.
Impatient End-of-Summer Rebound
I have a huge toxic crush on LA
from Glendale to Marina Del Rey,
but it is probably Danielle's fault
with her sneaky hot bod
and sexy Instagram poems
which I hope are about me.
The coyotes howl in Culver City,
as I party with Nisi and Scott post poetry show
their menagerie of well-meaning degenerates
all shouting song lyrics at each other,
over Ray Liota's cocaine.
Everyone else is either at Oasis
or lost to the Los Angeles night,
but I am welcomed in to a rotating-door world,
something I hadn't seen since sober dreams.
I could not wait for summer,
and now that it is gone into September,
I am still getting my post big C sea legs back under me,
but so long to the show, and chemo,
especially when I find myself in a living room
on the other side of the country,
the other side of cancer.
If I didn't have anything to tether me,
I would stay out here forever,
fall in love and figure it out,
forget it all.
Vignes, Verse 4
Last year, the sound track to LA
was Born Ruffians and Tokyo Police Club
and fear.
The year before that
is was Delta Spirit and Local Natives,
and naïveté.
This year, when the smoke cleared,
it was Sports Team, Supergrass, Mr. Flip,
the songs "I'm Still a Struggling Man" by Edwin Starr,
and "You Look Like a Drunk Phoebe Bridgers" by Winona Fighter.
I wonder what next year will bring,
when I go back to do a book release party
for my novel.
who is the guy in the sky?
listening to David Byrne's new album
while Birding around Venice Beach,
between poetry readings and podcast recordings,
feeling like the luckiest sonofabitch
in the big bang universe,
until I hit a crack, flip over onto my back,
and land looking up at hashem
who is holding in a laugh.
the end of los angeles
every time I go to LA,
I think to myself
this is the last time,
but then...
the In-N-Out by LAX,
Mark's boat, Beyond Baroque,
gorgeous post-punk rocker poets,
stumbling upon pop culture landmarks,
the Hollywood Sign from Lake Hollywood Park,
Stories Books, Skylight Books, Book Soup,
The Last Bookstore, Small World Books, Amoeba Records, etc,
Ronnie's diner, where last year, I told her I had cancer.
the Halloween sky,
the possibility of possibility,
gypsy terrain and blonde knees,
no bugs, never any humidity,
lupine flowers, feeling like, because I am west, I get extra hours,
the palm trees are narrow, a billion broken arrows,
travelin' with some stuff I left when I was a kid,
a specific hat, and the dreams I've hid.
the coyotes, the corners, the weed shops,
the ocean, the mini mountaintops,
the comedians, the musicians,
the boy inside of me that can't freakin' believe this,
it feels like the fear of right before you fall in love,
when you know it is going to happen,
but you are scared and excited, curious and worrisome,
yet it is so damn fun.
the magic, the mayhem, the memories made by movies,
la lengua tacos that are life-changing delicious,
all washed down with a Mexican coke and hope,
I have never found the heart of this place,
but I am starting to think it has as many hearts,
as it has miles and cars, surprises and stars,
and maybe if I lived here I would feel different,
but I doubt it.
...every time I leave Los Angeles,
I immediately ask myself
when can I return?
Kapuskasing
Google Analytics tells me
someone in Columbus, Ohio
checks this blog every day.
someone in Columbus, Ohio
checks this blog every day.
How? Why?
I get the New York clicks,
the ones from D.C.,
even Louisville now and then.
Those make sense.
But why the hell
is someone in Kapuskasing
lingering fifteen minutes
over Coyote Blood?
I get the New York clicks,
the ones from D.C.,
even Louisville now and then.
Those make sense.
But why the hell
is someone in Kapuskasing
lingering fifteen minutes
over Coyote Blood?
The hierophant's grimoire
the coyote smoking in the mirror
is one of the strangest and most enigmatic deities,
like no other of the mythical creations of myself.
a primordial and fearsome source,
invisible like the night sun,
it seems to have overwhelmed my spirit
and influenced my feelings and thoughts.
i am a magical instrument,
allowed to observe the world
and command lightning-like flashes
that summoned storms
in the form of written words.
questions are just spells
I ask my fanged reflection
in the morning mirror.
izra eels
anxiety got me shaking like leaves on sugar cane
in the dying days of summer's haze
in forgotten faces of places
where the past reminds and the future hides.
the atoms in my body
are billions of years old.
they have existed as long as life itself;
I'm just the latest assembly.
I love those quiet mornings,
up before the world
and everything is possible,
after the eels.
The day always comes,
everyone else catches up and it slips away,
but it is glorious while it lasts,
before the world takes over.
in the dying days of summer's haze
in forgotten faces of places
where the past reminds and the future hides.
the atoms in my body
are billions of years old.
they have existed as long as life itself;
I'm just the latest assembly.
I love those quiet mornings,
up before the world
and everything is possible,
after the eels.
The day always comes,
everyone else catches up and it slips away,
but it is glorious while it lasts,
before the world takes over.
I work in sixes.
the devil.
all my old apartment #s.
tonight's Halloween sky.
Tegan and Sara soundtrack.
to the supermarket.
aisle 6.
For Kendra, Forever Ago
Wine bar dusk,
Bon Iver soundtrack,
Union Square—
bench lamplight soft as an unkept vow.
I said things that weren’t true,
you laughed anyway,
and for a while the glass between us
was enough.
Love, or the lie of it,
slipped down with last call.
You were too young
and I was too dumb
to notice how fast
hearts tangle
when you let them.
Now the years bend,
folding nights into curious silence.
I keep one hand open
for the warmth I couldn’t hold,
the other clenched around
all I swore and never was.
If time is a bottle,
we broke ours early.
Still, I drink (coffee or club soda) to you—
the way you left me lighter,
and how the lie became
the only truth I kept.
bench lamplight soft as an unkept vow.
I said things that weren’t true,
you laughed anyway,
and for a while the glass between us
was enough.
Love, or the lie of it,
slipped down with last call.
You were too young
and I was too dumb
to notice how fast
hearts tangle
when you let them.
Now the years bend,
folding nights into curious silence.
I keep one hand open
for the warmth I couldn’t hold,
the other clenched around
all I swore and never was.
If time is a bottle,
we broke ours early.
Still, I drink (coffee or club soda) to you—
the way you left me lighter,
and how the lie became
the only truth I kept.
just another sad bastard folk song?
are you in Louisville for Labor Day?
how's Harrison Ford?
are you listening to Eleanor Rigby in the rain?
how's Greenspur Lane?
are you keeping yourself warm?
how's the poetry coming these days?
are you dancing?
how're Dale and Pat doing?
are you happy?
Meet me on Fairfax and Willoughby in September
we won't talk about the past
or even think about the future;
we can just laugh and wander
and party with Local Natives.
You’re fucked no matter what!
Sure this cancer didn’t kill me
but a heart attack could be around the corner,
waiting to clobber me with a crowbar
and rob me of my Beats by Dre headphones.
My life is held together by super glue,
but a heart attack could be around the corner,
waiting to clobber me with a crowbar
and rob me of my Beats by Dre headphones.
My life is held together by super glue,
and not the good kind,
but the dollar store variety
that is anything but super.
So I will be sacred but not scared,
but the dollar store variety
that is anything but super.
So I will be sacred but not scared,
order pancakes for the table,
but pronounce it as panSNAKES
just to see if the server discerns it.
Shoot guns with your best friend
because this is the end of August in America,
just to see if the server discerns it.
Shoot guns with your best friend
because this is the end of August in America,
during the foul year of our lord 2025,
and firing an AK47 for the first time
is like doing a big bump of cocaine
and firing an AK47 for the first time
is like doing a big bump of cocaine
in the bathroom of a winebar I used to work at
Listen to music every day
Listen to music every day
like a lunatic and fall in love
like someone with nothing to lose,
and embellish your stories
with experience rather than whim.
Take away the pressure to be top shelf
and embrace being on the back burner
but don’t settle for second fiddle.
with experience rather than whim.
Take away the pressure to be top shelf
and embrace being on the back burner
but don’t settle for second fiddle.
I need a million dollars.
Now I know some asshole
is going to read this and say
“a million dollars isn’t what it used to be,”
but I am sure I can not only make it last,
I even have a little fun with it.
is going to read this and say
“a million dollars isn’t what it used to be,”
but I am sure I can not only make it last,
I even have a little fun with it.
VHS Soul in a 4K World
Do you wish you could travel back in time
to the sun-drenched, carefree days of your analog childhood?
For the low price of only 305 overpriced coffees,
you can hoverboard back to 1996!
"Why are we here? Why am I hungry?
Did I make eye contact with that stranger?"
Ponder these existential questions
and more while standing at the door
of your childhood bedroom.
I don't want to revisit my childhood,
but I would like to spend a week in 1996.
When crazy time-travel opportunities
present themselves at your local convenience store,
trust me, you better jump on them
and gun it to 88mph.
Next week, I am going back
to Los Angeles circa 2018,
so I can read some poetry
just a little differently.
Maybe one day,
I will go back to 2008 and 2012, respectively,
just to witness what it's like
to fall dangerously in love again.
I was so focused on the future
that I missed the present
and it turned into the past.
to the sun-drenched, carefree days of your analog childhood?
For the low price of only 305 overpriced coffees,
you can hoverboard back to 1996!
"Why are we here? Why am I hungry?
Did I make eye contact with that stranger?"
Ponder these existential questions
and more while standing at the door
of your childhood bedroom.
I don't want to revisit my childhood,
but I would like to spend a week in 1996.
When crazy time-travel opportunities
present themselves at your local convenience store,
trust me, you better jump on them
and gun it to 88mph.
Next week, I am going back
to Los Angeles circa 2018,
so I can read some poetry
just a little differently.
Maybe one day,
I will go back to 2008 and 2012, respectively,
just to witness what it's like
to fall dangerously in love again.
I was so focused on the future
that I missed the present
and it turned into the past.
I'll pay you Tuesday,
but make today last.
Prosaic Dangers
Be careful what you wish for, kid,
The garden says to the good night.
I am the most selfish person I know
But I love giving.
So you can keep your fancy metaphors
And your grad school grammar.
Because I matter on Saturdays
And some Monday mornings.
I sip my tea and bid you farewell,
Have a nice upcoming autumn.
Back to buying a bike helmet
Before tomorrow kills me.
The garden says to the good night.
I am the most selfish person I know
But I love giving.
So you can keep your fancy metaphors
And your grad school grammar.
Because I matter on Saturdays
And some Monday mornings.
I sip my tea and bid you farewell,
Have a nice upcoming autumn.
Back to buying a bike helmet
Before tomorrow kills me.
dumping all these NYC poems to move the fuck on
went on a late night CitiBike ride
across the Willytown Bridge
in hopes of sorting my life out
in dramatic middle-finger fashion,
but ended up getting a burrito
(spilling it on my shirt)
and listening to Phoebe Bridgers.
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