some bad poetry

I’m here

Again, stuck in the orbit of a faraway planet,

Kinda looks like Neptune from here…

I’m circling ’round and ’round and ’round,

With no permission to land, or explore…

And I get sick to my stomach as I do these spiritual


Alone, in this inky nothingness,

Punctuated by dots of light messages

From already dead things.


All I have right now

as some trite transmission to your home base

is half-baked,

really bad poetry

to show you that this interstellar mission

to get home

involves you, somehow.


Permission to land?

Permission to land?

Permission to


found poetry

I’m looking for old cover letters for a job application, and I found this random poem…I think, it’s my writing? I don’t recognize it, but it’s from my grad school days, 2012. I do like that new word I created…

inconsolable love

If you need anything, I’ll be inside my own sadness!


I am raising a handful of Cains.