An American Fall

I like that it’s cool now.


But as it gets colder,

I start to wonder,

“what’s really in the air;

how's this small town poisoning me?”


But it’s really not so small here,

just empty. 


There’s no one on the roads past midnight,

and there’s no one new to meet when it’s past

high school curfew.


It’s the shrewd parents and their diarchal moves

of Jesus and state.


But now that it’s cool,

and I can go out and breathe the chill

in the air,

I begin to feel American.


I feel like I am ingrained into these empty streets

and these seamless households,

I just don’t know if I want to be.

I just don’t know if I want to be a star

or a stripe

or just be free.

And it must be the air here that makes me wonder

if you’ll ever ever know how I feel about you,

that I was in love with you as soon as I saw you.


Maybe you could see that in my eyes

when we first met.


And I can say I've gotten used to this now,

but I don’t know if I am free

or if I am still bound by the chains

of former lovers. 


But when it is cool like this, I can feel you dancing with me,

like you did when we first met.


I never had the courage to ask someone to dance before,

but goddamn, did you see you?


It would’ve been the only thing I regret.


But we danced,

and you kissed my neck,

and then your friends took you away,

and I’ve been trying to get you back ever since.


Because you make me feel American

and free, 

and you make me want my nausea to end.


I want to run away with you,

and race in the streets,

and photograph you, looking fragile and fond

and perfect,

and tell you,

“you are perfect

and young

and American,

and I have been waiting for you

all my life.”


Animal Play

You can tell a lot about

that woman

in the corner of the downstairs


with only her

underwear on

You can tell a lot about

that woman,

whom I did not invite

to the party,

sitting there

with her giraffe mask

and neck on,

and her cotton candy swirl

panties, too

You can tell a lot about


all tied up,

and lipstick smeared


and down

her chest

“I’m playing a game,”

she says,

and it seems plausible,

but I don’t ask questions


Mount Elbert

the haggard man,
and the transfusion of translation
he brought with him,
upon us,
to the top of Mount Elbert,
where nothing can grow

"there is a hot feeling," he said,
"that accompanies the deadening cold"

maybe it was the feeling of freezing,
maybe it was the feeling of, “I don’t know,”

but up there, at 14,000 feet,
with the brrrrrsss,
and the cold winds of bliss,

I could feel 
what I couldn't feel


at 8,000 feet


This short film is something I had the idea for three years ago. I finally filmed it two years ago, and I edited it shortly after that. I watched it and re-watched it every now and then. I always had the inclination that something about it was incomplete or missing. But I also had the idea that its rawness and imperfection was exactly how I wanted the film to be. It's nothing like any of the Blue Stranger Productions shorts, but it deals with the same themes Christof and I wanted to address when we began making films four years ago outside my lake with Batman masks and a DV camera.


"all mermaids go to heaven,"
the girl on the lawn says to me,

with her parsley smile,
and her cracked pepper look,

"you aren't nautical, are you?"
she asks, an anchor in her eye,

"me? no. I'm more the garden-type,"

she stands in her lawn chair,
and she does a mermaid twirl,

"you should think about that,"
she says,
"soon, the sea will be all that's left"