Still can be purchased here for just $3. A sample can be read here or listened to here.

"I could imagine it in a way that felt like remembering"

Springtime Banjo Tune

I know your heart is something rounder
than a sphere when you open yourself like
a peach in the spring your legs are sunflowers
and your head is the harvest moon when I sing
I want you to hear and when I hate myself I want you to hate me
because sometimes I need someone to tell me I’m not worth it
but I know your heart has to be filled with something
maybe pomegranate seeds or plastic rings
my body is the parking lot overlooking the baseball fields
and there are no rocks on this ledge it’s all grass
it is spring I am awake and the raiders are going to win the super bowl
every black hole will disappear because I said so
and because last week I heard a man in the costco checkout line say
“the winter solstice didn’t come this year
so something has to happen” and he was buying lucky charms
so I’m going with him like I go with everything
and who put grape kool aid in the ocean
cause I want to help next time
all the fish are hyped on sugar and tweaking a little
but why isn’t the sky reflecting purple yet
yesterday I asked a woman that and all she did was
look at me and ask if I was the one who’d put soap
in the community birdbath cause there’s a dead bluebird on the cement
and there was a homeless man pointing and saying
“that was in my chest. that was in my chest”
and the police were called but they didn’t come
there was a robbery at the pet store and all the tortoises were missing
but the police really should have come and taken him to detox
so he could eat peanut belly and jelly sandwiches
cause that’s really what life’s about
the pb&j’s and dance parties
don’t look now but I’m shaking my hips
I know you can see me in the harvest moon’s light
and did you know I’m still thinking about that
the harvest moon
yes I am thinking of you
how you are there
how you are the seasons without names
i am chapped lips split open and bleeding in winter
you are made of glow sticks in my head
and I want to stick my finger in the fluid
to see if it will leave a mark

headed to lassen w a carful of bros


'spit bubble rainbow'
by Dominic Gualco

we are birds before a hurricane
when the red sun is a god and i am something small
and beautiful in this strange moment
i touch your hair and everything is singular
how can you feel sad when there are so many
california avocados for us to eat
beneath the streetlights i want you to freestyle
in the shower every monday starting now
and sometimes throw your shampoo bottle
against the wall and say motherfucker
cause your mouth wants to remember
the shape it makes and that shape is a flatbed truck
but quit pretending like your heart is a broken down vw bus
because it isn’t
it’s an organ strong enough to choke you when you sleep
through the first planet of the apes movie
and how’d you even do that
there’s another universe to investigate there
and in the space between your knucklebones
and man
i fucking love it


Dominic Gualco called us from Colorado Springs, CO.
More about Dominic.


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poem from the apocalypse is near and i am going to love this world


I made some art for the front and back covers of Dominic Gualco's new chapbook, The Apocalypse is Near and I am Going to Love This World. I was apparently looking at some Sam Prekop and some Paul Klee when he asked. Anyway, you should ask Dominic for a copy, and tell him I said hello. 

The Apocalypse Is Near and I Am Going To Love This World is available here for $3.

1 time i spent time on a poem then titled it “nobody cares about poetry” then sent it to a magazine that only publishes poetry and then wrote a blog post about it on a blog almost exclusively about poetry and it’s still a piece of shit with line breaks

A message from Anonymous

thank you. i wrote it ~30 mins after a girl tried to run over her mom, stepsister and roommates like 5 feet from where i was working. the two are completely unrelated tho

Inside my chest is a corrugated roof I am waiting for you to smash. Amtrak keeps contacting me, asking if they can melt the steel for a new track to Alaska. In the distance I see a train coming for me. I see squiggly lines drawn by the heat. Summer in Sacramento, the heat becomes unbearable. But what does rain in August even mean? We were born in the valley and here we stay. There is not a flood coming. The streets will remain, stained by ash.