Writing Bios: Drafts

June 30, 2019

I stretch from the dirt like the crocus or cress
I am the storm hovering past the highway and the sapling sending up its lightning
I am the highwayside power line running over flooded runnels
I am pity for the tyrant who thinks he can control this green mess
I am balancing on the mountain dancing on chaos everything spins
I am a loser and I clap the air apart
I am a humid night eyes stacked like Bed Bath & Beyond merch watching a stupid drunken loud breakup
I am a root ripping apart the sidewalk and your gas pipe
I am the cheap wine in your belly—sloshing
I am your ocean, your salt
I am the 9:46 train to Newport News in the New Haven night the yawn of light
I contain television waves, cellphone waves
I am the first downpour scouring the road’s winter crust, bleach but more basic
I am the first night your future child eats ice cream outside in their seventh year
I am drinking with all of your friends
I am the Miley Cyrus song you’ve heard 24 times but don’t realize
I am your term paper deadline
I ‘m what’s electric about the ground
I am that kid that becomes friends with your mom
I am the view from the top of a parking garage
I am the power behind your smile (before you even think to smile)
I am a chicken parm sandwich at midnight
I’m the memory of the first time you tried to grow a mustache
I am the best song off Green Day’s Dookie
I am Iowa
I am a senator’s inhalation and a fart haunting the back of the Brookings Institute conference room
I’m that bitch discussing thermoclines with your dad
I am the king of the used booksale, the library baron
I am amarena gelato (all of it)
I am a brass pot pothos wilting in a fluorescent corner
I am a sneaker in the shape of your foot
I am the hot pocket, the after school bagel bite
I am spinning the rhinoceros
I am punching your boss in the face and I am also the breathmint that flies out
I am the soon-archaeological urine smell of San Francisco
I am the red reflection of city night lights in the sky mirror
I am an acceptable La Croix flavor
I never meant to be born but here I am, full flavor, cool ranch
I am wedging a folded sheet of paper in the gap between teeth
I am Canada’s dangler
I am a technology solution
I am a Google Form
I am a virtue signaling jogger and woke blogger
I am the leftovers of a juice cleanse
I am the Ikea meatball combo meal
I am Putin’s pimp, Trump’s pump
I am the 1,915 mile haze over I-95
I am the Potomac and the Shenandoah, both
I am dried blood on gravel next to a cigarette butt
I am the lobby of a W hotel and its smells
I am Margarita ripping up Moscow but Woland’s a little too smug
I am the Whole30 abandoned 12 days in
I’m the one who blocked y’alls toilet


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