Little update

Life has been really good. This is my favorite time of year. Ritalin is still really helping me with positive energy, focus, drive, and calmness. It’s a huge difference. Almost as huge as my first ketamine treatments.

Right now I’m sitting outside with my chickens. There are two left still. We lost another. I’m not sure how much longer these ones have but I’m enjoying them while I can. Please, never buy “meat birds” to eat or for pets. I love them, but we made a mistake. They are bred irresponsibly.

I’m playing guitar and writing a lot. I’m also doing things around the farm. Morning chores have gotten much easier. I am enjoying caring for the animals and even constructing some stuff with Joey! I’m learning and it’s really cool.

I have a chapbook coming out and I’m doing a reading/giveaway over Zoom. Here is the link for the facebook event: .

Well, I can’t think of a whole lot more I want to say at the moment. Been thinking a lot about intentional community and what the future might hold. Been thinking a lot about poetry. Been feeling good.

Ritalin, goats, & new writing

Today I started taking Ritalin. I feel so calm and steady. I’m guessing this confirms that I have ADHD. The first thing that comes to mind is, “I don’t feel like a chicken running around with my head cut off.” Unfortunate idiom, given that I found one of my chickens dead yesterday. That was hard, but we placed her body beneath a tree and adorned her with a bouquet of dandelions. There are 3 of the white chickens left, my favorites.

The land is beautiful here in May. It’s one of my favorite times of year. It feels like a real farm, with all the animals around. A few days ago we brought home three goats. Our puppies will be coming home soon.

I’m taking several writing classes on Zoom right now. It’s really helping me. I’m starting to enjoy the process of writing again, and not just beat myself up that I’m not “producing” enough. I’m taking classes in poetry and creative nonfiction. I’m working on a lot of poems, and in particular, a chap book about chickens. I’d like to get that published or publish it myself. I’m also working on a novel, but that’s very slow going and I want to keep that secret for now as to not curse it. It’s pretty light-hearted though, and a nice change of pace. I also want to put together another collection of personal essays….something sort of between Show Trans and No Poster Boy. I want to weave stories together. I’ve been through so much these past 6-7 years since I published those. I’m ready.

There’s a robin in front of me trying to eat a worm that is too big for it. It’s pretty funny. We also have barn swallows, Canada geese, blue birds, owls, deer…. Feeling good on my new meds, I can see how awesome my life is right now.

I’m gonna post a few poems that I haven’t shared yet. They aren’t formatted with line spacing and returns exactly how I want them, but you get the idea. Hope you enjoy.


Pure Joy

Sometimes the chickens are enough.

The four fat ones tottle out of their coop

to munch on the grass and slurp up worms,

their enormous bodies

almost covering their orange scaly legs and feet.

Like obese dinosaurs

they roam among the dandelions,

running and flapping with pure joy,

or huddling down in the dirt,

rotund bodies pressed together

to wiggle and shake

and throw dirt in the air.

Some lands on me

as I try to keep a straight face

on my Zoom call.

One finds a crunchy June bug

and the others abandon

their demure nature

to peck at her beak

trying to secure a taste.

They buck and groan and chortle

talking amongst each other

between bites of blades of grass

as a mild breeze

blows through the yard

rustling their cream-colored feathers. 


A Poem From My One Rabbit, Beau, to the Other, Theo 

I love you through our cages.

I’ll snuggle with you through the bars.

Though you bite me

and tear at me with your claws.

I still need the warmth

of your body

pressed against mine.


Why We Haven’t Had Sex in Over A Year

I drink a cup of coffee

And immediately ask

“Where is my next cup of coffee?”

Over and over again

With no end

And it’s sad because

Coffee in the morning 

Was our special time together

But I ruined it

With too many caffeinated questions

“When do you think we’ll have coffee again?”

“Was the coffee good for you?”

“Will we drink coffee again tomorrow?”

“Can we have coffee this afternoon?”

“Are you busy or can you have coffee again in 

Ten minutes?”

And when you say you’ve had enough

I pout

Or plead

For this manipulation

You will not stand

So I’m left alone

Bare feet on the cold kitchen floor

And there’s no milk in the refrigerator

So I drink my coffee black

Cup after cup

And it’s bitter

And I don’t even enjoy it.


Walking Uphill in Ithaca

It’s getting dark.

I’m walking up Aurora Street

on the cracked sidewalk

past different colored,

two-story, city houses,

porches with pumpkins, plastic skeletons,

and rainbow flags

and leaf-covered yards

with signs that say, 

“Black Lives Matter”

and “Bernie 2020.” 

As I round the corner

wafting from some student’s bedroom,

the smell comes

and hits me-

I mean really hits me-

with memories.

Giggling marathons of

Star Trek: The Original Series

under our fleece blankets.

The makeshift green and red light shows

we projected on the walls and ceiling,

and great sex 

with Indian music playing

in the dark, in the glow.

The heat of our campfire 

in the summer

in Southern Oregon

beside the RV

and the deep green creek

where we really heard Jimi Hendrix

for the first time

over my bluetooth speaker.

And we joked we would be famous

 as the two guys who just sat there

for eighty years. 

At our spot in the forest

in the hammocks,

conversations about

how humans are the apes

who were kicked out of the trees

as we looked up at the bright green leaves

of the canopy.

Arguments in bed

over whether I’d had enough. 

Then me, threatening to leave

with a packed suitcase

and no jacket

in an Upstate New York blizzard.

The itchy feel 

of the hospital gown and socks.

The cold steel telephone

through which you told me

you couldn’t do it anymore. 

And still, in that smell,

the empty promise of another life

in which I am “chill.” 

So I cover my nose with my soft grey scarf

and keep walking uphill.

3 months later…

Wow, I haven’t written on here since February.

I’m doing…okay. Right now I don’t really even know how to phrase the stuff I’m going thru.

I haven’t gotten the vaccine and I’m pretty down about it. I could go into all the reasons but it basically boils down to: 1.) I don’t trust how it would interact with my autoimmune disorder and 2.) We live in a place where we can isolate. I don’t go anywhere. So the whole family is waiting for now.

But that’s just the problem. I feel so fucking isolated.

I’m also struggling with gender confusion and dysphoria.

I wanted to say more but I don’t know what to say right now.

Maybe I could elaborate on feelings of isolation, or the gender stuff?

Isolation: meh.

Gender stuff: Sometimes/often/currently(?) I feel more like a demigirl than a guy but have no energy/confidence to present that way I want to look more feminine but I don’t know how right now in a way that would be comfortable. This makes me feel further invisible on top of the fact that I barely ever see anybody.

If anyone can recommend places I could find support online, that would be awesome. I’ve been trying to find nonbinary support groups this evening. Waiting for approval from some facebook ones. It feels super awkward to just write about my problems to strangers though. I don’t know.

My writing group also ends in a few weeks and I’m wanting to find a way to continue to be a part of a poetry community. It’s been really critical during this past year.

Anyway, blah blah blah. Maybe I’ll write more later or tomorrow or you know, 3 months from now.