a metaphor, mostly

being a parent
is pretty much like, "hey kid,
eat this thing i hate."

the merits of post math rock

this is how it happens
the same old familiar songs on the stereo
the tickticktick of the oven
and the gluggluglug of tequila
the purr of cards shuffling
and the flick of cards snapping onto the table
"you're waiting for one in particular, aren't you ?"

this is how we get old.

inflammation !

the worst part about

having iritis is you

can't wear an eye patch.

honestly, the whole 

eventual blindness thing 

sucks pretty bad, too.

an interesting drug

your head is nestled

in the crook created by

my elbow and breast.

we both sigh relief

as oxytocin seeps from

my brain to my heart,

bringing with it the

memories of you ripping

through me, bursting forth

in savage splendor;

a wide-eyed, magnificent

new force in this world.

oops.

i'm coming clean and
admitting that i had a
mother's day meltdown.

on aging

"I have 3 fake teeth."
"Mark my words : I'm going blind."
"Well, my bladder's shit."

when we play the game
"whose body's decaying fastest"
there is no winner.

in the shadow of a small tyrant

ice clatters glass in
melting cocktails that tip in
tired victory.