(an ode to my teachers)

I never was your angel

I’d never be your sycamore

but if there’s one thing I have to thank you for,

it’s that short holiday record

I can’t lie, it’s a weak story but

I wouldn’t have grown so tall without it

I want to put your memory to sleep

but first I gotta tend to the seed


he takes a look at himself

after brushing off the heart from his highest shelf

he does the dirty work for Him

he resuscitates and

finally sees the flaw at the seams

(hadn’t taken a hard look in days)

up from the depths of his vision

rose money on a gold plate, or so it seems


blood orange fingertips, purple palms

gold lips, let me speak

blue roses aren’t natural— leave that to the sky

I’ll take the red one, please

got my guy lounging on the highest cloud

I’m dancing on donuts and slinging krispy kreme

OK, enough with the comedy, for real

it’s sweet to feel safe in these new sheets


Berlin got blurry so I drowned the static

out my ears dripped Coltrane’s saturated attic

Puberty 22

Sunflower Bean hue

Jay Som’s opening for Paramore

nuclear seasons are still true

I’m lacing my pops with rum because

I only see green light when I’m with you

oh shit!!!



In my view, Young Fathers and Snail Mail are the future

I’ve been around the world, a Noname Nobody

studying with Blake scholars and Big Thieves

I finally found a suture, I stapled my own magazine

I never had the privilege to cross the ocean until 

these academics saw my potential and met my need

Now I’m balling at 5 in the morning, listening to Ray Angry

Ain’t Chance funny?

Now I’m like ooz moon, reptile queen

Vintage Vinyl’s owner told me his friend signed Charli


Boys and girls don’t see past me on the street anymore

I’m propped back up on the pedestal, or as you call it, “stage”

Gotta be above it so here I am, hovering above my personal hell

Proving that just because you couldn’t see,

it doesn’t mean that I don’t know how to act my age

I’m still writing poetry, it’s just more self-assured

because I realized I’m not getting any younger

you haven’t been paying attention so you haven’t seen me

putting together the pieces to grab my own favorite stars

there’s one out there named Nobility

Milky way worship rots your teeth, but without it Mars

would only have bars in our dreams


lived there, lucid London flat/ been there, but 

didn’t stop eating beef because it made me fat

but because shit hit the fan and tainted the garden

so let’s look deeper, listen closer

this cartoon is smarter than it seems

Hollywood killed your American dream

Let’s go home to the record store

I know hot spots from Seattle to Brighton

Roam then listen with all our friends later

We’ll lie after a long day of climbing

Smoke and fall alongside my new record player

How could any music lover feel like dying?

I’m back in the zone, bopping in my beats to Badu


I love the way you absorb my rays and see the

northern lights buried in my arctic brain

The Tromsø public library is the coolest club in this country,

haven’t you heard?

Hello? I still got my ability to lace words into the absurd

Don’t you know you can call me from anywhere in the world?

Trust me and I’ll entertain the possibility of you

being the Rejjie to my Clairo

Homeshake me up, I just want your sun kiss


If I can’t get back the lizard ring I left at her house,

it’s okay ‘cause I know snakes

so far, the weight is worth the upgrade

I love the snow but I never craved constant cold

I’m fine with dry heat if it means seeing constellations

The coast is near for when I need a splash of water

I feel alright in this light

Won’t you spin another old record?