True Feelings

Suddenly I understand
that all the doors
(of possibility)
are on the inside

Answers that can be
forged only in silence

Behind one: the delicate
archive of this current path,
preserved behind glass

Behind another: overgrown
dreams, like a garden full
of weeds

And behind yet another:
true feelings

How quickly the truth
unravels within us
(if we let it)

An Ode to Tinder

Each night, we enter the portal
and we haunt each other
with possibility.

A spread of still photos,
stitched together in our brains
to craft a the construct of
who we might be – and we
text like we know we
are both real humans
with real hearts, real minds
volley back and forth, until
one of us falls asleep.

And the trail goes cold.

The idea of you as a “maybe”
snuffed out by a sea of
new threads, sparking with

And each night, a different
ghost of a man holds me,
I knit together the idea of him
his warmth, his smell, his touch

But when I wake up, he’s gone.

Percy Street Project | Philadelphia


Once again,
in the height of summer
mountains shrink behind
curtains of haze
conjuring the familiar dread
of winter’s opaque skies

But it’s different, ominous
the way the sky brims
replacing the meticulous
clear blue of
Seattle summer sky

Collectively we wonder,
the air feeling thicker
than usual, if this is
our new normal

The dim sun pressing
neon rays through
layers and layers
of crispy trees,
houses, anything


Seattle, WA • Photo by Ryan Adams


The hallucinator sees
the contents of their mind

spread out before them,
like dusty old knickknacks

brought up from the basement
and strewn out in the front yard.

Their minds become a

They look at their life
and see themselves
as a miracle.

An accidental poem by this article in The Atlantic.

Volunteer Park Conservatory, Seattle