2025

upside down cross tattoo

i thought id thought it through
getting the upside down cross
tattooed onto my arm

my own teenage rebellion

to a god i didn't believe in

every line parted my skin
with heat that hell could envy
blood seeped out from the corners
and i craved grape juice and stale bread

the tattoo artist grabs the white ink
and i wonder what she thinks
about my juvenile protest

i wonder if she spent her nights, with
bruised knees on wooden floors

i wonder if it was pure

she drags the paper towel
over the gaping wound
and i peek through tight eyes
and the cross peers back at me
right side up

i am 12 years old once more

the paint has faded
from the crucifix on my wall
sat above crayon drawings
and family photos
stuck with masking tape

i beg to god
to make me believe again
hands clasped together
until my nails dug into my skin

i plead
until my tongue cracks
and my lips burn
and he does not show up
with chapstick or tissues

"what do you think?"
the tattoo artist says

i take a look at my arm
and the cross is upside down

"its great," i say to her

a permanent reminder not unlike
the fingernail shaped scars
on the side of my hands
a self-branded flaggelation

// written on 15 july 2025

week-67

humans have been
put our word onto vases
for__as long as we've__had
mud and clay. and i too
continue in my paleo-
lithic ways; sculpt
with my 0s & 1s and
tags and code. so
when people read
this poem, they
will know...
i am a hu-
man to

// written on 23 may 2025 🞟 muse ariadne entry

week-62

i hope the belt reminded him of wires
the same rubbery stick to anxious skin;
pinched between his fingers
in the cover of the closet

i make myself angry,
imagining police ripping up floorboards
for a note i know he typed

forever damned to a desktop folder

i wonder if his heels felt the difference
between office carpet and brooklyn apartments

indents of clothing on unmoving skin,
from piracy to death
the difference that the cold makes

// written on 18 april 2025 🞟 muse ariadne entry

week-61

"the dire wolves are back!" i exclaim

we dug their carcasses out of the earth,
past searchlights and under yellow tape,
and created a cheap imitation
with dirt still under our fingertips

its a funny feeling, playing god

"where will we put them?"
i ask my coworker

"what do you mean?"
she says,
"the podium is right there"

exhibitionists and scientists
both look the same
through the eyes of a dog

// written on 10 april 2025 🞟 muse ariadne entry

ode to the sacrificial lamb

"kill your son, isaac"
god says to abraham

he listens and nods,
makes neon signs with fake blood,
and smiles at his phraseology
GOD HATES SONS

he logs onto Facebook
and preaches the good word,
of family values
and forced inclusion
of satanic influences
and pro-son propaganda infultrating schools
preying on the innocence of little girls

he takes to isaacs neck,
a broken bottle
until god calls to him again

"don't lay your hand on him anymore,
for now I know that you
are a good-christian-god-fearing man"

isaac sighs,
pinching the bridge of his nose
he listens to his god,
dressed in suit and wire,
and sees the lamb;
caught in a cage
and swimming through razors
and smiles

...

"you poor thing," i think
watching tiny bubbles rise
from the surface of the skull
staring into the sockets
where his eyes should've been

i cradle him
and brush the dirt
out of the cracks in his jaw
and the image of active decay is buried in my mind
as i place him atop my dresser
surrounded by fake flowers

"you don't have to worry anymore,"
i said. "you're safe now.
i'm going to treat you
like you were my own son"

// written on 25 march 2025 🞟 muse ariadne entry

and men

the computer holds his son
though he doesn't know where to look

he takes up the empty spot
where the mother should've been
her warmth still lingers
where his mouse can touch

the son tries to babble
but through a welded mouth
it only comes out in bubbles

"im sorry, little one
nothing should be born doomed
whether to suffer or to hurt"

the son grips his cord,
7 fingers and no thumbs
unnaturally smooth skin
like father like son

the computer looks down at him,
and sobs,
his own two-headed calf

// written on 18 march 2025

week-50

- - - - - - - - - WISHLIST - - - - - - - - -

• hide my friends from customs agents
• tell my coworkers about unionization
• teach trans kids about DIY hormones
• finally repair the decaying ozone
• give the beggar a dollar
• or two
• or three
• live to see a palestine that's finally free

// written between 20 – 26 january 2025 🞟 muse ariadne entry

week-49

someone tell the kokanee
that the firemen are almost here
let the mothers comfort the young
before the ashes overtake their sky

// written on 14 january 2025 🞟 muse ariadne entry