all the language I have — so far today — removed


 ”Poetry is at its best always at the very end of itself, a ladder propped on nothing, a heap of aspirants crowded on the ladder’s top rung. Then someone invents something else (not a ladder).”


Is this ad relevant to you?
We would like to enhance 
your ad watching ex-
perience. Yr a garbage
person if you can’t
take a good photo
is the underlying mess-
age of “gay” “culture”
in Brooklyn. I hate
having my picture taken
I say to this photo-
grapher at this party
bc every damn party
has to be photographed
otherwise it doesn’t happen
and bc the parties 
are so boring if ppl
weren’t posing
there would b nothing 
to do but drink. I’m an old
man yelling at a cloud It’s
too loud for convos
n they don’t let you dance
in the city. He says oh
come on I say calmly
No. n he asks (bc I
know him from around
after living in this fault
line 10 yrs) is this
an Indian thing? Like do u
think it steals yr soul
or something?
I want to crumple
him up in the palm
of my hand But I
guess it is a NDN
thing in the sense that
I’m NDN n doing
this thing. It’s like
not being able to stare
into the sun for too
long but kind of the
opposite—swarthy black lens
crystallizes the uncertainty
Is this good, or bad
is a sentence in a fight
n I hate confrontation.
Why do I have to take
sides? Switzerland has
the strictest privacy laws
on the planet, and I
have the flyest tank
tops in America. Some-
how I feel good about
my shapely legs.
In Kumeyaay
there’s a concept for in-
between. Not knowing
how to smile, how you look
bent over a book, waking 
up on either coast
feels the exact same some-
times you wake up
not knowing how old
you are n if Johnny 
is down the hall in
a robe makin eggs. Future
leaders were wooshed away
from the tribe in a sort of
boreal way to feel
the greater world, stone 
hills etc this was back
in the day.
This concept of in-between
is like gangbusters
for Muse. It’s like cat-
nip to Muse it’s throb
of light in-between
the 2 of us Just the 2 
of us, you n I. I rub Muse
my neck I’m clenching
my jaw for like 20 mins
waiting for this damn 
photog to take damn
pic This concept in between
Kumeyaay and Brooklyn—
that it has a word
even if the word is lost
even if it doesn’t exist
even if I’m lyin to you
is breath tethering, opens throb
of light inside me. I 
don’t have to worry
about keeping my God
alive by keeping her name
secret bc the name for her
is gone, and with
it, my God I never got to
know her, but strangely
sometimes when I’m cry
laughing at that scene
in Steel Magnolias or
I can’t sing the part in 
the Beyonce song @
karaoke where the music
gets all soft and I try
to sing baby, kiss me
but Maud has to take
over bc the feeling stroboscope
blooms bigger than my voice n
I think I see my God
‘s shadow walking down a hall-
way but like I said I lost
my voice n don’t know
her name maybe it’s
Wa’ashi or Pemu
this clairaudient says
to me apropos of nothing
but I’ll never know 4
sure so I can’t call out keep
chasing swirling smoke rounding
in a glass jar
n then I’m like, crying
at a Beyonce song
r u kidding me Teebs get
it together bitch James 
is finally following me 
back on Insta so I take a
somewhat risque 
selfie send it private 
message n right after
say OOOPS! omg I
meant to send that
to someone else gosh
so embarrassed oops!
and he responds w/
a pic of his computer
screen his phone #
typed on it so we 
text n he’s like
come over n I’m like
do u have A/C he says
Yes n I just straight up
drop the mic n leave.

hosting an annie sprinkle sparkly bday card making party tmrw

hosting an annie sprinkle sparkly bday card making party tmrw

SCORPIO (October 23-November 21): While I applaud the enthusiasm behind your latest right-answer, articulation-of-driving-purpose, and/or encapsulation-of-what-this-all-means, I also suggest not banking too much certainty on its universal applicability. Rather than shy away from or intentionally overlook whatever yearning or drive doesn’t fit neatly into this schema you’ve formulated (presumably to provide yourself some peace-of-mind), why not grant that exception or complication more of your attention? After all, your erratic psychic state over these many months has largely been a factor of this sore-thumb impulse, and of the challenge to integrate it into a confident vision for how you’d like to be in the world. If you can’t find a way to include within your stated ethics the very consideration(s) that threatens to subvert their consistency, then you’re just setting yourself up to eventually do something that goes against what you claim to believe… which, frankly, feels like shit. But I’ll bet you already know what I’m telling you—because you’ve been living this tension, behind the scenes, for so long now—and probably have a pretty clear notion that this complication or exception-to-the-rule isn’t just going to go away. It’s time to keep answering, articulating, and/or encapsulating… but with earnest philosophical effort to crack open whatever limiting precepts have been preventing you from feeling upstanding in your impulses. 


Tomorrow night at Le Petit Versailles, a community garden on the border of the East Village and the Lower East Side, I’ll be reading alongside Wo Chan, Ariana Reines, and Pamela Sneed for Stephen Boyer’s “Summer Nights on Jupiter” reading series.

I’m really excited to hear Wo’s stuff—plus they’ll be a Lambda Lit fellow in Poetry this summer, which was my summer gig last year. Lambda Family! Or heh, Lambily, if you will. Mariah didn’t tm that shit, did she?

Also Ariana and Pamela have had arguably the biggest impact on my writing process, the way I read and experience poetry/art, and perform my work/inhabit my voice. At discreet periods in my writing life, they gave me guidance, permission, and encouragement. I would not be on the path I am now without them, so being on the same bill is quite literally a dream come true.

I’ll be reading from the first 10 or so minutes of my long poem summer project, IRL—a poem about crushing vs. loving, online vs. IRL, rez life vs. city life, New York vs. California, thought vs. language, privacy vs. secrecy, “fantasy” vs. “reality,” and what happens when the language you love & wrap yourself in feels like an impostor? When yr indigenous language has been stolen, and your religion along with it, how do you experience god/goddess? How do you reclaim faith? Can art be a satisfying surrogate?    

Piqued? Come see! Tomorrow night, 7pm—Le Petit Versailles—346 E. Houston st. @ Ave C—BE ABOUT IT

unf so stoked for this.