09 4 / 2014
"I have wished you dead and myself dead,
How could it be otherwise.
I have broken into you like a burglar
And you’ve set your dogs on me.
You have been a hurricane to me
And a pile of broken sticks
A child could kick.
I have climbed you like a monument, gasping,
For the exercise and the view,
And leaned over the railing at the top–
Strong and warm, that summer wind."
08 4 / 2014
"In my head there’s just the one poem and it’s all about you. It makes you feel weird sometimes, paranoid, like you’re being watched by something you cannot see. It’s kind of like a movie about aliens with high-powered rifles for eyes. Or like when god peers down from his cloud into a tide pool and sees all those spoiled rich kids slamming their groins together, and he marvels at the precious ache within their haircuts."