For A Better Propaganda

For A Better Propaganda

The Author
The Wood Room Collective
Tumblr Featured Writing
Spoken Word

Wood Room Collective
Harrisburg, Pa

Drive-Thru Introspection

I wish i’d have known
about bitcoin, before the
newswomen and men,
surely i’d have built
mountains with all that

and back before
my fingers memorized
the feel of authentic
paper, i’d have no
use to the skill

i’d have bought something
shiny, tomorrow’s election,
or the next (if we’re playing
the long game)

i’d gathered enough
longing for kindling,
and lost layers
just as well
and i know the temperature
keeps rising, windows in idling


once benign
submerged beneath
skin, some particular
set of circumstances
flung my lids apart

what’s the significance
of images trapped
on glass?

i used to think i would never find love,
now i think i’ll never deserve it

loneliness is both my greatest fear
and oldest friend,
he stains everything i do

Teeth and Faith

i imagine you as charcoal
orange begging to bust through
the shell

capable of bringing
down a whole house
if deployed correctly,

your skin…i see you
smile with closed eyes
and wonder why we
don’t spend more time
looking in the mirror

together, we’re all

helps quiet the passing
cars and muttering
lips leaking exhaust,
curious there aren’t more
muzzles in this city,
my home

where the broken streets mean
something to me, they’re ingrained in
my skin

where history saunters past
every day

remember when you were weak,
you had hope

now i have faith

Like a Memory

i want to crawl between
your ribs and cling

i want to seep
between your (aging)
panes of glass as
you scratch above
my skin

sometimes you sound so

you’re clever as ever
and i’m brokenstuck in bed
waiting for my muscles
to rebound

tired of wishing,
so i stuck my fingers
in the earth and started
digging (sike) that would
be nice wouldn’t it?
at least for your intrepid author

i, the king of dumb
luck, barely stumbled out
of my stupor and you appeared

better than ever

don’t i seem like the type of guy you could claim?
and rebuild to your own specifications?
you look like a woman who knows what she wants

I’m at the bar
melting into my cup
God bless the internet

She’s foreign,
I’m four in

She’s a dog person,
I’m a person, dog

I’m a dogged person

She’s an academic,
I, an archaic discipline

She thinks clinically
I’m the control

sometimes i see you in photographs
concealed in headlights or glistening pavement
a trailing leg just out of the frame

or in dreams, while i grasp at sheets
fighting the sun

i think about my feet
meeting the ocean floor
brave toes breaking new