3 things I wrote after discovering tweeting to myself

I find two flooded biros,

overwhelmed by disuse, or frustration, or something.

I keep rummaging. Tea.

I stumble on some abandoned batteries.

I find myself thinking, “I wish pens were battery-powered.”

Slump, wordless. Tea.

I watch two tiny slugs climbing a rain-streaked window,

their undersides rippling as they push,

and wonder what my body does when I’m not looking.


You can decide what I think about this.

I know you need to feel power,

and this is me giving it to you.

Am I terrified? Please tell me.

I am going to decide what to eat, and

I, in neutrality, will still scrawl letters;

the rest is up to you.

I know you are okay with this.


Too close. It feels like the plaster is going to fall.

This boundary is not assuaging this violent impulse.

Watch gravity give up caring.

Holding onto grass, about to fly off.

When I land again, I’m going to fucking hurt you.