i live an improvisational life in between bouts of depression. bravado shelters me like a tarp in a hurricane. no glass just boards spray- painted with pithy slogans. fun fact: my father tried to kill me when i was sixteen. interested yet? twenty years spent treading water is no substitute for a life. five ten hot flashes and a bad temper lines on my face sculpted by dysphoria embraced too late by forty years too late by thirty-two hundred miles. i write like i'm starving hunched over a machine bringing up gouts of words like wound fever in reverse. i never know if i'm doing it right but a key with no lock can still be a pretty thing. i live an improvisational life in between one breath and the next.
January 13, 2018
