art beauty behavior belief botany cemeteries death desserts ecology family life love poetry

yellow petals

i walked into our backyard and spoke

to the witch hazel tree this morning

she was the closest woman i could find

beneath a sun that decided to shine

for the first time in a week

witch hazel calms angry skin

soothes redness and inflammation

her fleshy bark turned to me as i told her our story

though she already knew the words

she had felt the earth around her roots quake as i screamed

for the baby i tried to give you who is buried perpetually at our feet

for the day i walked out on you in a restaurant

to not hurt you with my sharpened tongue

i didn’t want to lash out at you for wounds i’m still nursing

that you didn’t inflict

the way you had the nerve to follow me

and when our eyes met

you smiled because you love my damaged heart perfectly

i told the witch hazel tree all of this

her buds bloomed yellow petals for an answer

right in front of me


-i love you, James




no survivors

we were dazzling together
the way crushed glass sparkles
on asphalt


i don’t miss you

i miss the inch
before your lips


the t-shirt

when next the situation arises
that i need to sleep at your place
and i borrow something to sleep in
don’t give me sweats or your best pajamas
i want your oldest, rattiest t-shirt
the Nirvana t-shirt that you bought
in 1992 from a record store
back when there were record stores
the one your mom spilled bleach on
so you didn’t take it to band camp
but it was okay because bleach
was their best album
the t-shirt that mopped up
your barf in college
the one your roommate spilled
both ranch dressing and candle wax on
at the same party
the one that’s faded from being washed 7,000 times
that needed washing a few more
the t-shirt that has a constellation
of holes in it that look
like the Falkland Islands
the t-shirt your dog had puppies on
but you cleaned that shirt and kept wearing it
because you love that dog
and you loved those puppies
and it made you want to keep
that fuckin’ t-shirt even more
give me that soft broken-in
raggedy t-shirt
that represents your entire life
give me that t-shirt
to sleep in


the stars look very different today

it’s not enough for me

to mourn David Bowie

as a musician

an artist

an actor

or as a kind human being

i mourn the transformative effect

he had on generations

i mourn him as an intellectual

as a voracious reader

a thinker

capable of making art

of his own death


how graceful


a man

who could be

a beautiful woman when he wished to


i mourn him as a man

who gave the conventional

the finger

and then asked,

“Where’s the glitter?”

art Uncategorized

Daria Petrilli

Daria Petrelli


by Pascal Campion

art fairy tales

Jessica Harrison Ceramics



Spring Play

I thought

I understood what



and beauty


until I saw the smile

beam from the face

of my son


his leading role bows

before the applauding theatre

as he realized

he had just achieved


he never thought possible

art behavior books civility Europe happiness history literature love mortuary sciences nature non-fiction poetry psychology punk sociology suicide thanatology Uncategorized writing

Nietzsche wasn’t so peachy, but this woman…

Janne Teller,

a Danish novelist

of Austrian-German background,

wrote the line,

“From the moment we are born,

we begin to die.”

I, poet,

think to myself,

only a Danish novelist

of Austrian-German background

could possibly conceive of a line

that fucking morbid.

The following line should simply read,

“Why not avoid the protracted suffering

and slit your wrists, the proper way, now?”

Death was my business for many years,

Ms. Janne “I-Need-Zoloft” Teller.

I am pleased to inform you,

there is a prolonged period

between birth and death

which we warm blooded humans

refer to as, “life,”

and it is nothing short

of miraculous.