• Wildwood, NJ

    Wildwood, NJ


    last year, i felt like i could’ve saved lester cuneo, or
    at least maybe evelyn mchale. now i’m not so sure.
    now i wear grey crewnecks, refuse to capitalize my
    i’s, stare at you across the room & try to figure out
    what film you remind me of at any given moment 

    (portrait of jennie today, ruby gentry tomorrow)

    they say the tartar between my teeth is rotting away,
    but that’s the last distress signal i ever want to hear;
    instead i love my girlfriend because she fits me in
    wherever, whenever

  • Benedetta




    Do you know who Susan Cabot is? What about Mary Astor—she was in love with two people at the same
    time for almost two years. Much like Cooper / Kelly,
    I long to give myself to something or some things.

    Yet nights like these are tough, even the algorithm
    doesn’t know what to recommend. I think it heard
    me once, whispering that I wanted to give birth—
    I could be the patron saint of anything. Let me.

  • The Birdcage

    The Birdcage



    And the price of business is: dollar raises
    at multi-million dollar companies, $1,000
    packs of trading cards that used to retail
    for next to nothing, & the multiplex down
    the street reopening for just a few weeks,
    only to then suddenly, permanently, shut
    down a few months later. 

    I’ll be old when all of that changes hands,
    & is no longer mine to call my own.

    And if you’re speaking, I’m listening, & if
    it’s something we want to pursue, I’ll put
    on your old clothes & wait for you—


  • The Prestige

    The Prestige


    I forget everything once I 
    turn the shower radio on; 

    it says I have ten minutes
    to feel better about today,
    but I just don’t think that’s

  • Personal Problems

    Personal Problems


    Gluing fragments to the ceiling, watching 
    what shape they take—lemonade & Lenox,
    Craigslist ads, your old clothes, Harlem in
    the 80s, how you never wanted to leave it,
    our problems with screenplays, the canon,
    still, & (so much more I wish I could relay). 

    Now I’m trying to call you because I forget
    how to write, or string together sentences
    that make some sort of sense, or even use
    punctuation the right way we were taught.
    So it goes! 

    With any two people that don’t keep good
    touch, there‘s bound to be years of phone 
    tag, voicemails, then hearsay of whoever’s
    funeral has finally come first.

  • Da 5 Bloods

    Da 5 Bloods


    under lamplight & in times of panic,
    we pray for great art, the fact that it
    takes seven years to make, a handful
    of hours to consume, & the hope that
    one day we may modify the precedent
    set for which side of the (mattress) our
    bodies are drawn to.

  • MS Slavic 7

    MS Slavic 7


    The last letter I received from you read:

    “As I too sit here in my bedroom, it gets
    a little claustrophobic.

    I will let you know when I begin to feel

    Almost a year has passed now, & with that
    comes these realizations that things aren’t  
    simply left behind, but instead resigned to
    their proper place designated by a plan.

  • The Green Ray

    The Green Ray


    120 x 160 CENTIMETERS—sprawled out
    on the floor before being pinned up on
    our wall.

    We could waste our entire lives tracing
    its lineage, but we’d like to believe that
    it came from a cinema in Paris, 1986, in
    a time when things were easier—& your
    head was shaved down for the summer,
    not even contemplating a future where
    we would need the internet to love one
    another through. 

    I’m learning now that when I write I have
    no true plan, that this website has no real
    purpose, & above all else, pieces of paper
    can mean nothing to almost everyone but
    something to a specific someone.

  • Simone Barbès or Virtue

    Simone Barbès or Virtue


    spread out a spring comforter,
    (seventy) degrees everywhere,
    longing for elementary school, 
    plants sales, & bake sales, your
    head full of hair & my sneakers
    slung over your shoulders, &

    lastly—growing up—learning to
    not care about the present, the
    culture, box sets & baby names,
    what our friends are reading, or

    let us leave for somewhere new
    now, let us keep it to ourselves;
    our past lives play no purpose,
    not in memories nor anything.

  • Never Eat Alone

    Never Eat Alone


    Expired toothpaste makes my 
    gums rot a little faster, numbs
    them to a final breaking point,
    & cuts down on that feeling of
    always eating alone. No image
    pressed in plastic, or fragment
    of a once-remembered melody,
    could replicate you right.

    Finally I’m able to see what’s on
    your side of the ceiling, on your
    side of the bed, all this chipped
    paint slowly peeling, it distracts
    me from my sleep.

  • A Dim Valley

    A Dim Valley


    Saw you in the clearing,
    but I disregard it like it’s
    nothing, only to see you
    in the mirror, so I regard
    it like it’s scripture. 

    Now we learn to let go, 
    write & talk backwards, 
    tie two shoes together,
    all for a séance that will
    try to save your soul. 

    So when I make it to the
    other side, I hope they’ll
    let me stay long enough,
    & we can leave together
    when it’s finally time.

  • A Tale of Springtime

    A Tale of Springtime


    All of April—obsolete! Spring has turned
    into nothing & nothing finally feels good.
    In spite of everyone claiming otherwise, I
    do feel as if each passing day is distinct & 
    different. Yesterday I felt lost—today I feel
    saved—tomorrow I’ll feel fine. 

    We should stop with the books & the films,
    focus on the floor or ceiling, & perpetually
    stare straight through them until we sense
    our growing proficiency in more important

    Now I can juggle competently, recite diary
    entries from dead actresses’ completely, &
    above all else, censor myself when I