1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 Forum the end. the new.

this one was a while coming. i spent a long time writing nothing at all, then, the times i did write something, it wasn't very good. i settled eventually on "huit / poetry café doomsday" being the closer to this series (i couldn't even decide on a single name). there is, however, an alternative closer on my blog page (

i always imagined the closer of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 being a sprawling epic, released a week after the last poem. neither of these things happend but i'm really happy with the simplicity of "huit / poetry café", i wrote it in 10 minutes at the poetry café in london (figures). i think it really caps off what this series was meant to be, words too urgent to be said. 

thanks to everyone who read along with the 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 series and managed to not become annoyed with my secretively and my prolonged absence. another series is in the work, but until then i'll be posting / reviewing regularly once again. i have a lot of unpublished poems from the last year, the first one being "zachary talked about the moon", which will be released tomorrow or the next day.

for those who kept reading:

honestly thank you so much. i never thought i would come back to the site in this capacity, and while 8 took a while, im glad i stuck to it and finished it. this isn't the end of me and this isn't the end of this group. really it's just the beginning. this is a community and i want to try something new. i will be in touch in the next couple days. 

since im cleaning out everything involved with this series. here is 8.2 (aka, an earlier veirsion of 8.1)

to leave life without a note or permission   gone     in clunky banishment - a magician botching his vanishing act the rabbit sunken into the hat the time i said goodbye and my voice cracked   and I blame that on the stuffy breath of prehistoric lung     i have a thousand responsibilities things people expect of me, unbound energy     avoiding saying “I love you like that”   at this point i’d give anything to watch my body go like homes sideswiped by dusk, like pastel-fog down paopulated mountains, like how the foam out of a shaving cream nozzle hides the logo, line by line   i’ve wrestled thing inevitable: i found my elderly body, took it for a spin in a dream died at least thirty deaths in thirty different ways but all the same i never wrestled with the thought of losing you  until now                             Fine, I’ll take my time leaving   I’ll keep being a living fade-out A s****y opaque object, I’ll drip A bit of opacity every day until The day I am gone