The past 5 years are measured in miles (& often, milligrams).
On & off the road, distributing literature for Nostrovia! Press, roadside jerry-rigging our traveling bookstore & home, managing the press itself (gratitude for wonderful co-editors), my own tours, coordinating events, treating my body like a literary factory for unattainable standards no one seems to know who wrote the script for, social media management, & all around, surviving—all these noises accumulated into where all their labors meet.
They became narrative worms wriggling in my hands, their skin crinkled like palm lines when you make a fist.
Then I threw them over my shoulder.
What remained was travel, writing itself, & performance.
I’m not really sure what I’m doing. I’ve become afraid to release my writing. Translating experiences & grounding emotions has become pulling teeth.
That’s why I’ve returned to this space. To re-learn my relationship with publishing, poetry, addiction, occupation of space, & support (for myself, & others).
Currently most active on Instagram (@RuntRaccoon)
Poems posted here.