I love You, a Thousand Times.

Leaving your house
after the weekend
always feels a bit
like dying

until it’s done.

I have my routine now.
I hoover the rug
my dog shat on
at our first date
because you always
do the cooking.

I wash the bed linen
because the stains of our
love making
bite the fabric.

I smoke one last cigarette
that you left for me because
you know I suck at quitting.

I write you a poem
and leave it on your bed.
And when there are no words
that rhyme or have rhythm
I simply write

I love you
I love you
I love you

a thousand times.

Small Town Dying

on monday
we are hungover from
that weekend
when we lived

on tuesday
we wash our car
because god forbid
the car next door
shines harder

on wednesday
we mow the lawn
and throw the apples
back over the hedge

on thursday we pay
our taxes and fuck our wives
because this needs to happen
once a month

on friday we eat fish
and i think jesus
had something to do
with that

on
saturday
we die

Violated

he looks like
an army vet
like in one of those
american movies
we watched

pilot glasses
porn moustache
trucker cap

he rides a mobility
scooter
and his wife rides one
too
while his granddaughter
bounces up and down
a makeshift trolley

i wear a sleeveless shirt
and he looks at me
with that disgusting man face
some of them make
while his wife complains
about the weather

Summer in Autumn

it is summer
in autumn
because climate change
is only a hoax
when you are
a millionaire
and your head
has been crushed
by the paper
you made
underpaying
the women
that sew

for the rest of us
it’s wildfires
and tsunamis
while
you set
a nature reserve
on fire
to reveal the genitals
of your baby
like gender
is still a thing
worth celebrating
instead of
a bunch of cells
sticking together
in a womb

i take of my shirt
and look at the brown
leaves on the curb
wondering when
we all die
in mother nature’s
final attempt
to salvage the planet

Ametisto

the stone
in his hand
is pure
purple
magic

he tells me stories
of its birthplace
spanish flowers
in the mountains
women dancing
in folk dress

and i can feel
something
growing
as the purple
rests on
my chest
for the first time

because a necklace
is never just a necklace
but a whisper
of a promise
planted softly
on bare skin


This poem was written about a piece of jewelery created by Joyeria Ramos.

Spotlight

my brother’s
pancreatic tumour
started to bleed
and that friend
i told you about
had a blood pressure of
seventy over twenty

holy shit
i say
even though
i am really tired
and had a shitty shift
and really just want
to go to bed

holy shit

and i think of the musicians
and the actors
and the models
and the influencers
talking about corona as if we are all gonna live like this forever
and their lives are over
because they thrive in the spotlights
and people don’t need them
when they are too busy
just surviving
and then i look at my workmate
and there is no spotlight
but despite the pancreatic cancer
and despite the deadly blood pressure
she is getting ready for a nightshift
at the care home
and i wonder
where her spotlight is
where the cameras are
and where the fans
are hiding

Dying Pixel Dust

i erase your existence
from my phone
by clicking
the trash icon
on each individual
image we took
not building a life
together
but memories
all the same

years worth
of history
destroyed
in seconds

i kiss
no one

look at
no one

love
no one

suffer for
no one

as i rewrite
my story

this time
i am
the leading lady
i always was
without you

as i watch
your smile
reduced
to dying
pixel
dust