Syn on the Cross(roads) Hanging, crucified at the crossroads,splintered, indecision-pounded flesh,pained with gravity’s choice probes,exploring outcome receptors, burnedcircuits sizzling, char-curling nostrilsinhaling stench of the rancid future. This concludes Cascadia Poetics Lab‘s Poetry Postcard Festival 2025 poems and postcards. It’s not quite over yet though. There are 3 more that have been sent to my friends…
Category: art
POPO 2025 — Day 30 — Dotty’s Prognosis
Dotty’s Prognosis Stage 3 of 3, aka the worst. 12-18 months eta to heaven. Her frankenbelly pale, a shaved expanse criss-crossed with thin, dark suture. “Bad news,” I message my kids, “will tell you more later.” Honestly, I don’t have the heart. Why such a small, gentle cat was given a life filled with misery,…
POPO 2025 — Day 29 — Party Music
Party Music The neighbors are having a party with an arsenal of music. Sometimes one bullet at a time, with syncopated beats. Sometimes a stream, saturated with death potential. Where do the bullets go as their sounds reach my ears? Am I paranoid in my fears?
POPO 2025 — Day 28 — Green and I
Green and I What is it about cacti and I getting along so well together? Prickly pear and Christmas thrive on neglect and love light. What is it about succulents and I being such good friends? Jade plants are all about the green. They drop their lobes and create. What is it about ginkgo and…
POPO 2025 — Day 27 — Dotty Goes In
Dotty Goes In Dotty goes in for her surgery in 2 days. The once-small lump near belly button keeps growing. Today it is a golf ball hemisphere. It doesn’t bother her like it bothers me. She writhes on her back, purring, while its red angry presence laughs. Fuck you, tumor. Soon you will be jarred,…
POPO 2025 — Day 26 — On Bombing Iran (written on 4th of July)
On Bombing Iran (written on 4th of July) I made a spotify playlist last night. Words escaped to string into feelings. It was easy. Distracted for a moment from seeing a curse come true for the whole world. How many will die? Like I mentioned before, these are not ekphrastic poems. The puff looked like…
POPO 2025 — Day 25 — Helped
Help(ed) Someone blinked neon green help at me through atrium window one night. How the tiny prisoner came to be trapped doesn’t matter only that they needed release. One jar and paper towel later she blinked thanks at me then away, into ink.
Tao-Talk 