a summer of sorts from the second floor
a short comic
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on chronic pain, moldy fruit, impossible language, and erosion.
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drifts, desire, and a run in with ghosts.
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1
a roundup: what I'm reading, watching, talking, laughing, loving, breathing, fighting, f*cking, crying, drinking—um—
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on want & the spaces we recognize ourselves.
All night, we hear the wind chimes tied to the tree in the backyard, and in the morning one could mistake their sound for strange and distant birds…
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missives from my notes app
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At the start of 2020, I sat on an empty beach under the stars as the waves made blue whorls in the darkness, and I kissed the faces of those next to me…
footnotes on touch
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All day I hear the birds. In the morning, the streets are silent but I hear the birds. Jenna tells me which bird is which, points out the blue jay…
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on birthdays, cherries, and old poems for new lovers.
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