the one true friend


at eleven

was nothing like you 

at fourteen

beyond the years

red with fire and no longer 



let me be the one true friend

i refuse to amble along

pretending not

to notice


give a secret to the sky


on our fingertips

we rest in a field

sciatica makes you sigh

a secret falls off the lips

up cycled into




we locals

not casting out very far

wheel around town in a three door car

you know our names and we know yours

stop at the candy store and the bar

for some steady gossip to remedy 

any overthink with a steady



the hour you meet the world

wistful you push us too hard. with some slow burn desire you push us. you push us too hard. you sing this song night and day feverish after what you long for yourself. please. sit back and count the stars. the hour you meet the world. let things be as they are.  #katyamills

boba 15

all we had left besides

blurry screen smudged vision and apocalyptic climate heads 

was the kindness we shared over a smashing boba tea 

in twenty twenty three


b4 u think

broil the salmon 

golden pink

stop the thoughts

before you think

you don’t have to feel bad 

about it



night so strange

on hard times


the days turned strange


easily bruised

turning colors 

laughing and jumping

they twitch

as if turned by a switch 

into night

unable to register

any longer

the light 



I line my eyelids

with a metal finish

the day begins with words

from an interior 

space. a common life i have

formed by various pressures and forces

lucky with freedom wishing

to be a light to show 

a way out of the darkness

to any lost soul

i line my eyelids

a silver finish


ok being ok

i flew a drone up high 

to get an eye from 

the sky i

put an iron track 

down to reach the town 

butter and cream on 

an engine pushing 


we ate potatoes 

with tomatoes and began 

to sing



i wanna ditch these streets
for the soft touch. an endless forest
these days have passed
awakened by your voice
i cannot find my way back
i wanna chorus of crickets
the only knock upon door a woodpecker
where my money don’t matter
sustenance to lift by roots
from earth