voting feels useless but maybe it isn’t

voting feels like false hope and peer pressure

voting feels like picking between meatloaf or tyson chicken nuggets for the school lunch

when i want a salad i grew myself

i don’t want humans to suffer

i don’t want animals to suffer

i can’t believe this isn’t unanimous

whose christ is this. come pick up your christ, he (HE) is behaving badly in schools, borders, synagogues, bathrooms, homes, hearts, and hospitals.

i cant ask your lover why

you nicknamed your eating disorder that

i cant ask you, first because that’s bad manners

but also first because you aren’t with us anymore

Teenage minge a tootin

everyone is ruth bader ginsberg

everyone is tourists

everyone is where is waldo

the person checking the boarding passes

was dressed as a sexy cop

and i don’t know how that shit flys

in chicago

keep me in your warm thoughts

it isn’t my warmth, now

it is the band aid of

licking dry lips

before stinging skins

hard to think of a poem

in the orange sherbert honey hands

squeezing and longing the

hip haunches over the console

what do you do when green lights turn into yellow lights and hearts turn into a floundering fish in a broken elevator

my love song is for

my brain and places

if you wanted to

come for the ride

i would guess that’s fine

but i am love

the trees are love

the roots on the river

through the rocks, slanting

their trees, are especially love

im here for hope

shining and self evident

coming through cracks

in what you think this is

and who you are

and what they taught us

but what i know

is white light

that circles and pulses

and shone, shines,

will continue shining

i am love

you could be love

but you must come to the quiet

waiting for what

you thought you wanted

to be naught, not even thought.

sitting in a dark room with you

huge, black, absorbing cold and light and sound

we waited and watched

for the glass to change

from snow with a black square

to a person diving in ice water.

a crowd of people

all looking at an empty room

until someone mumbles we were duped

and we all leave

but they cannot refund

the little faces we made at each other

by the light of the cold, empty hole.

what like

spend life

standard is

make places

for angels

and die –

happy haunt

rooms you’re

used to