arbitrary numbers

lazily counting down one hundred thousand words.
because writing's a craft, and i need the practice.
photos every now and then.

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prose | poetry | fiction | photography


60012 - To Transit, To You

I. Chicago

The CTA runs thousands of miles each day. Elevated rails weave through Chicago like the tangled strands of a nightstand hairbrush. 

There are two stretches of underground track that run parallel to each other, cutting across downtown. These subways are caverns of light mildew, pothole puddles seep through their ceilings. The squeaks and screams of wheels on rails take priority over anything else you’d hear.

Most people riding do so in silence.  

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I hope my lips planted rosemary
on the edge of your shoulders
I don’t love at my own convenience
it’s bursting from me as steam does
surrounded by southern winters.

61369 - Gratefully

Compressed time, the lingering hands
atop the cathedral, the blue mornings spent in bed 
sharing a cigarette, ashing into a sauce lid
the elevator, the capital, it started 
with you, all of you, sitting next to me
as I bore down the highway
in complete disbelief.

61415 - Signature

As the sun slipped 
set between my eyelash
and polycarbonate
I leaned forward 
hands half-pocket
to you, stiff lips, teeth
gritting against cheeks,
I knew then your heart 
was knotted, tight
as it could go. 

61450 - Fatigue

I lay fast on my mattress
hands taut as rubber  

the springs sigh for every night
you cried as I slept 

it’s a quiet sobriety 
on the first day of fall.

61481 - Bon

Staring down the city
with a harried energy, 
down to the quick of my nails

I’m headed for the tollway 
on a sawdust morning
running on fumes, running 
through the ledger 
of what you’re owed.