On Grandpa’s Sharpies (a messy recording)

Love, pickled cabbage, tacos?, and long titles like Fiona Apple’s “When the Pawn…” are my favourite

Sometimes writing poems doesn’t actually mean writing poems

After Ikkyū 39 and… Bridgerton (no spoilers)

We’re in hell, but there’s still flowers

Eight legs, eight eyes, can’t lose

Shout out to the gardeners and young desert abbots

Things feel expansive when loved ones are gathered and I know nothing of the why

When There’s Nothing Left to Burn, You Have to Set Yourself on Fire

Fact Check Follow-up