wild card

perfection. the dalliance ends now. stop the fuckery. i am with friends i walk with good intent. the weight of age and time the only pain i carry. no longer self-inflicted. my royal flush ends with a wild card. the feeling you get after you lost it all. to live on.   #katyamills

what was and ceased to be

they dragged him out to the fields middle of the night and roughed him up good. she woke up alone and wondered why. locked out of the house he somehow managed to climb over the fence. she found him sprawled out in the backyard, shirt torn, under the influence of apricity. 



the cars out scouting and thirsting for gas. every day the same. i boiled the water, prepared the grounds, and poured our mugs full. fire us up and good for what we got ahead. eyes brightening. here’s a hug the size of California. stay foxy.  #katyamills

fuel the imagination

my body covered in

fossil fuels

i stand above the giant canvas

charcoal and oils



behind glass

relics of my imagination

they will never burn

into the deep blue



four nine

i empty myself 

of desire

the secrets

they appear

simply wanting 

never got you 



even steven

they don’t really know what they
are doing

forgot all the things you said
to help them understand

the sun will shine again
your honey will love you
through anything

and when you put on your uniform
and go to work

all will even out
like cream stirred into


seconds 2

you put up the impenetrable walls without even thinking. drinking at bars was a way to take a sledgehammer to them but you couldn’t break through. passing a joint around a circle of friends maybe. some artificial light cutting into the night. but if you really want some sunshine you gotta take them apart brick by brick. you gotta be longing for it. badly  #katyamills

isolation (bad)

the stores were out of eggs. we were surviving on oatmeal. the highway e-billboard display bright like a star. severe storms. avoid travel. they left out the important part. severe depression. do not isolate at home. 


of the sun

across from the Bellagio

we watched the street performers

and the fountains a script of dances

night mistaken for day

the Cirque De Soleil


leaving Vegas

you hurl the core of apple out the window as we speed across the desert lands. Piute country. a wall of mountains either side. a federal prison. a reservation. we break west through an ancient pine cone forest. we stop so you can pee. 7000 feet high. spell our names in the snow.