super.sub

a tuna sub
a paperback

a drawn tub

a little
slack

what more 

can one 

ask

life is super!

ptsd in me

years back
some awful stuff
i witnessed
i lived

i carry a diagnosis
ptsd

a gang of sensations
still oppress me
from time to time

this inability to feel calm
for days on end. particularly around dreaded
anniversaries

i check the deadbolts
again and again
and still i cannot
feel safe

in my own home
in my own head. even
in the fellowship
of friends

despite the love
of family

i hope they go away
but if they do not
i can be thankful
i survived

katya
2018

did we meet?

sure you came in the room
sure we had a conversation
sure you looked in my eyes
like a story we came to some
conclusion

still
i wanna know
did we really
meet?

algorithm

They siphon the nightmares
out of our dreams
their algorithm snaps
out the hips

untold and unheard
hushed hushed
they are cleaved

the whole town
left sweet and
unreal. we are sieved

by decision
not without derision
the intention
to cover up

the kind
of telling
by minds
of deeds
dark

but it is the truth
they sever
from itself
on a lark

saboteurs
lacking poise
i try my level best to quiet
your noise

the algorithm

so sound
mathematically
executes one-eighty
degree dips
three-sixty degree
flips

swan dives
off the lips

overrun us
day by day
you would

the courageous among us
stood in no poorer shape
at the end

the same
they say
as we were
at the
start

we would die
of a broken
heart

ultra!

k survives another ultra

gaze

long were the days

we suffered the gaze
of an omniscient sun

killer -vi

the socioeconomic sponges up all my blood so the floor can be polished for the next disenfranchised video game glazed hunting cap dick whose girlfriend refused him a blow job on his 18th birthday to step to the counter with capital one credit and a jaundiced beef jerky soul. cash registers. a semi-automatic. america invests in my demise