Phantom pleasure firmly squeezes

As ghost fists grasp my slippery reminiscence

Like your gentle mind-hand brushing the glowing eye of my burning memory stove.

Yeah, that’s an Adventure Time reference.

It’s sewn un-seamlessly into the belly of my clumsy,

Vaguely pornographic poem–

a scary thing to put on paper

when I’ve read the wreaths of smoky swirls slung Tuesday into stanzas in an elegant portrayal of

a mind that sometimes

harms and haunts you;

A mind smoldering when it’s not clean on fire singing

Screaming flaming refrains.

Sometimes I think you see yourself as aftermath.

Largely crispy carbon remains the likes of which you’ve seen dug up


in the middle of nowhere

You probably even tasted it.

But I hope you see you’re green and leafy, wet and breathing

…though more of a shade loving fern -marked resilient on the care tag at the garden center- than an orchid…

*Next page, New pen*

Lubed with liquor that L word leaves our lips a little more lightly

But lingers on mine well into sobriety.

*Next page, Pencil*

I’ve been trying to finish this poem for months.

Maybe I don’t want to.



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