feeling
sort of mole(ish)
the urge to
burrow
into the cool
soil. the
solitude of
digging deep
hoping to
strike the
mantle. happily
exploring the
vast interconnected
tunnel system
snaking
through this
hollow world.
knowing
there is as
much chance of
a subterranean
hidden eco system
as there is
becoming a
mole. but
it’s okay to
dream.

i am vibrating
between
a desolate
desperation
in the vacancy
their absence
has left. and
a bone deep
desire to be
held. just until
the headache
passes. until
i feel(anything)
something
more than this
roiling mass of
malignancy
flavored
nothingness. my
hands absently
scratching
as if digging.
(burrowing)

hollywood
gives the false
hope you
can outrun
disaster. when
the truth is,
every second
seems dipped
in a perilous
overabundance of
calamitous woe.
maybe that’s
just the anxiety
screaming in
a constant
high pitched
droning whine.
falling apart
just as things
are coming together,
i could teach
self sabotage at
oxford. but i
disavowed myself
from, their,
extraneous, comma.

hi, my
name is mike.
talented tongue
and a throbbing
vocabulary. the
man of your
dreams, but only
when you catnap,
anything more,
and you’ll simply
silently move on.
half man, half
mole, half poet,
half mathematician.
a tick,
suckling the ass
of beauty,
swollen with an
unquenchable
desire for more.