My Private Bonfire

Weird Poetry

If you ever see me

Staring off into the blank spaces

Between the molecules in the air

With my hands clasped

Over the approximate location of my heart,

I am warming the cold

And melting the frozen

Over a private bonfire.

It is inside of me

And you will never see it for yourself.

But you will see it light up my eyes

And curl my lips into countless secret smiles

That you might never understand.

You will see it rose my cheeks

And glisten my skin,

But you will never see it head-on.

You may spy its proof in me,

And you just might see it glowing from a place beyond my pores,

But you might never be able to put your finger on it.

Because it is just for me,

And me…


Some things are meant to stay within your bones to melt and evaporate in the boiling bubbling marrow, and re-absorb into the blood. Some things may never escape from the gravitational pull of galaxies and worlds under my skin.




The full moon brings me the letter ‘P’

Weird Poetry





Parting ways.

Parting seas.



Purge again.



Paring knife.



Peeling off.

Peeling away.

Purge again.




Passing on.

Passing over.

Passing away.

Purge again.

Piss off.

Pulling down.

Pulling apart.

Pulling asunder.


Purge again.

Piecing together.

Putting back pieces.

Poem pieced together.

Purge again.




*** Why “P”? Because of your period or something, Snookums? ***

*** Honestly… I just thought “purge” when I looked at the full moon…. ***

*** There are so many Ps here that they are starting to look foreign to me. ***

no more hundredmillion re-takes

Weird Poetry

hundreds thousands millions bajillions of countless moments

frozen still static paused

on screen

contortions of lust and want

and moaning inside my skin

screaming beyond my mouth

too many moments like that to count

moments of seeking

moments of angles and eye-rolls

moments of sweet jesus and writhing

moments of fuck and i hate myself

moments of love and caressing my own softness and kissing better the delicate

and re-takes

don’t forget the motherfucking re-takes

and re-takesretakesretakesretakes

and re-fucking-takes

it felt good sharing nudez in the middle of the forum

humiliation was a constant lover in all of this

one I crawled into willy nilly

but we broke up last night

— I destroyed it all —

all that remains is what you find left on the wall with the yellowing tape and what you’ve kept hidden in your back pocket since the beginning

I prefer to shed my clothes

and my skin

in words

now that you’ve all already seen my assymetrical tits

but I will show you all of my true asymmety

and a nakedness that rivals heartache




***Feels too good to burn things.***

Sea Foam

erotic poetry, Weird Poetry

Her voice belonged to the waves;

It always had.

When she opened her mouth,

To lick her salt-crystal lips

With a tongue of glimmering scales,

Sea foam poured out of her,

Along with parts of forgotten songs

And little bits of forbidden rhyme.

When she was a child

She would hold her breathe for as long as she could,

And behold the refracted light of the sun

From beneath the water’s skin.

She would watch the blue sky of the dry world above

Undulate and shimmer

As if there were nothing there at all to separate this watery space

From the parched everyday world,

As if it all existed as one beneath the moon-possessed ebbing and flowing

Of the tides.

She would sing a song every time a cloud passed by,

But she always left it behind,

On the sea floor amid the fish skeletons and shark teeth.

Deep under the water that night,

She reached up to pluck from the sky,

The hottest, farthest star she could find,

And nestled it into her sea anemone heart.

She let it pulsate there,

Sensing herself expand from that single point inside,

And could feel her skin pock like the surface of sun-bleached coral

As the white-hot light from that star pushed through the porous surface of her body

And through the fluttering gills of her throat.

Her voice poured out of her once more,

And it belonged to the waves

And the shadow-drenched sea floor.






In the midst of metamorphosis

She encountered a stone

That intended to pull her deep down,

Beneath the ocean floor,

Lying dormant under the waves.

Black strings of sting and hell spit

Fusing darkened rock to shimmering wing.

But this butterfly was made for wind and altitude,

Not unfathomable depths.

There is no stone heavy enough

To drown what was never meant to touch the water.