A collection of short or unfinished thoughts / poems / dreams / tweets
- I do not like the parking garage
- the acid ghosts
the people you will never be
- Licking a burning joint
- The thin pillows of poverty.
- I don’t think I’ll ever make a living writing poetry
- a trip into my psyche
is an exploration of nothingness
unrivaled by anything that nasa
has ever funded
- Me, flirting with the penal system:
“Hey, do you need any bud?”
- make peace with the dirt
- it is good dirt
- it does not want to be on your shoes
- it does not want to be in your house
- it is good dirt
- the dirt does not mean you any harm
- In this Sonoran desert
there are hundreds of species of ants.
- It’s amazing how easily I can stop shivering
if I just stop shivering.
- A dream: I am laying in a field
the field is green
the field becomes black
I am still laying in the field.
- I lay down in your bed on top of a pile of your clean clothes. They do not smell like you but they smell like they could smell like you. Here, I am an ant on top of a mound of dirt, which is actually a complex series of tunnels by which I get around. Here, I am an infestation in your house. Your clothes now smell like cigarettes and fear. They will not smell like you until you wash them and wear them again.
- put lipstick on my adams apple
- A dream: we are both laying in your bed
- A dream: we are both laying in your bed in Phoenix
- A dream: we are both in Phoenix
- Back when I smoked Marlboro Red 100s
- Champagne vomit
- I’m starting to think about killing myself in the same way I think about having a career in poetry. It would be cool, but I probably won’t be able to do it.
Elijah Pearson is a 20-year-old poet who currently lives in Philadelphia. They are a co-founder and editor of Spy Kids Review. You can find their other work in Alien Mouth and Fog Machine. Follow them on Twitter @smallpuddle.