Ode to Drinking Coffee Slowly and Finding It
Cold. Ode to My Three Oranges.
Ode to the Rotting Fruit I Didn’t Eat.
Ode to Change. Ode to the Homeless.
Ode to Change In a Homeless Man’s
Hands. Ode to Handling Handlebar Hotsauce.
Ode to Handlebars on a Sunny Day. Laughing
As My Handlebar Hands Come Off
the Handles, Metaphorically Speaking.
Ode to Biking. Ode to Biking in the Fog.
To Fading Into the Distance. To Being
Laconic All Winter. Ode to Losing
Friends Through A Hole In Yr Pocket.
Ode to My Teeth Falling Out.
Ode to Kissing You During a Howling
Bloody Nose. To the Stranger Asking
About Death. To Lobotomizing Propriety
and Misanthrope Anxiety. Ode to the Moment
Before We Die.
Ode to Seeking Inspiration in the Strangest Of Places.
Ode to Sleeping On the Floor. Counting
Nails in the Wood. Being Both
the Nail and the Wood. Ode to Death
Poems. Ode to Every Year of Yr Life.
Ode to Seeing Yr Father in the Bathroom Mirror.
Recalling Childhood In the Living Room’s
Stare. To Trying to Cultivate A Garden
In Yr Mind. To Destroying Yr Ego.
Ode to Being Exhausted at Having To Explain
The Kind of Things You Think About.
Ode to Breaking Self-Made Shackles.
Ode to Drawing Yrself In the Left Hand Margin of
Yr Crumpled Spiral Notebook With the Word
“Class Notes” Written in Red Pen On the Front.
Ode to Dreaming That We’re All Still
Friends. Ode to Seeing My Grandfather In the
Afterlife. Ode to Never Being Bored. Ode
to Erasing the Kitchen Wall’s Unfortunate
Whiteboard. Ode to Paying Bills. To
Drinking and Inhaling Cheap Thrills. To
Getting Paid and Getting Laid
Off. To Not Recognizing Yrself After A Week
Or So But Who’s Really Counting? to Holding Yr Head
In Yr Hands. To Watching Movies In Bed. To Spending
More Time On the Mattress Than Anything Else.
Ode to Google Searching Porn and Writing Some
Scribbles In the Bathroom Stall of Yr Old High School
About Prom. To You Being So Small. To
the Two of Us. To the Digging Mystery of
Our Lives Unfolding In Someone Else's Blind Hands.
To Painting the Walls and Then Sitting Down and Watching Them Fade.
Ode to Death.
Ode to Nothing Being the Obverse Face of Something.
Alex recently graduated with a degree in Art and a minor in English from the University of Nebraska - Lincoln. He makes a multitude of things certain people might consider art and can usually be found playing drums, writing poems, or soaking up awe-inspiring movies/films/images. He has a website as well as a Twitter account.