The color of the branches depends on the color of the sky.

Dreamed I was selling replacement parts for a machine that didn’t exist. People were buying.

My bed and I are one thing now.

Fresh snowfall on a row of trash bags.

Love note: The dog threw up on me.

Poetry needs to get over its savior complex.

The fog of words.

Radiology waiting room: A preacher screams inside a woman’s phone. Hallelujahs for all.

Nobody is born naive. We are all microchimeras. That’s not poetry. It’s science.

The sun has tipped into the window. Its bright arm reaches across the bed.

In the bath, I filled my belly button with water and pretended it was an ephemeral pool.

Love note: Flush the toilet.

I decided something was true, then I serendipitously found evidence for that truth. Yes, because of confirmation bias.

Question any voice claiming to be the embodiment of God.

If you think something, you will then see it in the world. Yes, because of observational selection bias.

Statements delivered with authority are believable, even false ones. It’s easy to make nonsense sound profound.

If it looks like a dream and feels like a dream, it’s a dream. Another delusion. Don’t fall for it, and don’t pay for it.

Question any voice that claims to have come here from outer space with a boatload of awareness that can now be doled out to you.

Question any voice that claims to understand quantum physics in spite of never having studied physics.

Question any voice that tells you they’ve shifted into another dimension.

The universe is not here to be your servant. Question any voice that tells you that’s the case.

In photos, my right eye is the believer and my left eye is the skeptic.

My dog is lost in a drift of white sheets.

In my dream, there was no lock on my front door, but only friends tried to enter.

Dawn: sky the color of a fresh bruise.