Hey folks, I’ve been working a lot with a program for writing and telling interactive fiction recently called Twine, taking inspiration from the glittery and beautiful Porpentine (you should really, definitely, if anyone is reading this, check out her stuff, it’s truly glorious.)

Anyways, here is the first version of the first thing I’ve ever done with this program. Hope you can find it in your hearts to be brutally critical about it. It’s for my own good.

Hey guys this was a while ago but the amazing Phizzog Review published one of the poems I had most fun writing. Check it out and make sure to check out everything else in that great journal/website:


Lewis says, as he stares into Death’s eyes,

“Why did you come for me, man?

I thought we had a deal.”

Lewis says, while he’s dusting off his shirt,

“Looks like this is what Death feels like,

it seems pretty fun.”

But he was not afraid to die.

All of his friends called him Alaska.

He wrote us songs so we’d all ask him:

What was in his mind?

Was he in our minds?

Lewis says, as he dances on his grave,

“Why didn’t I choose to go sooner?

This is fucking great!”

Lewis says, as he soars onto the sun,

“We were never meant to live in the first place,

if only we’d known…”

But he’s not afraid to die,

he ties his belt around the sun and drags it

down to Earth, riding on his casket.

What is in his mind?

Are we in his mind?

He saw the earth

going up in flames.

It was such a peaceful feeling…

It’s getting warmer in Alaska.

A fascinating, if slightly stretched connection.

Shameless plug for the one poem I have published on this magazine: On the Go (2)

The buzzsaw pulverizes the brittle bricks.

Dust-covered, the man is a dentist: cutting cavities from the mortar.

Why won’t he wear a mask, like they do?


I want to shout at him from my window:

“That dry dust is going to kill you!”


It’s been forty-seven minutes and he hasn’t stopped once.


He doesn’t have a sweater.


He should stop so I could give him one of my sweaters.


He should take a break and smoke a cigarette with me.

Tomorrow is another
Day just like today
Clint Eastwood is my mother
Tomorrow is another


Gentle is the lake

The capybaras cry out

“Find, then rape Lara!”


Fellow invaders,

I greet you with open arms:

Welcome to Poland!


I must confess, I

See hell in your eyes, and it

Makes me want to burn.


Proud is the father

Like a pigeon on a reed

Nothing to hold him


Smoke billows afar

Berlin is nothing but flames

Hitler is Jafar.

On the verge

       the edge of an

       idea, digging at

       the sand, it’s

       too smooth to

       grab         onto.


       sand         worms

       dig their way    

       out, we

       cannot get in

       through the holes

       they left behind.

You will not see me speak

at a gathering of men of purpose,

properly dressed with shiny

watchbands. I struggle to

carry a prose. For if you ask

me to speak of purpose,

you’ll have in your hands a porpoise.

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