Absurdity; that’s what to call her.
Existence; she exists by
Feasting on dead lover’s dreams.
Ironic is the pulsing
Since armless men are not my calling;
Instead I clash with steel and computer screens.





Stained coffee mugs and inexpensive name tags are what define my current life.
Moldy records, cheap mauve wine, and tears that wet my hair.
The inability to actually feel anything; or the overwhelming sensation of experiencing everything.
Equally disappointing.
Transition. Despondency. Exhausted and wondering.
I received airplanes, while you claimed California. I can’t fit them in pockets. I can’t see their flaws. I just write the future and I determine their last fall.