This bittersweet, self-aware elegy for youthful delusion and holy foolishness. ambles through smoky cafés and thrift-store enlightenment, capturing the ache of chasing transcendence in coffee cups and chaos. A poetic confession of irony, yearning, and the beautiful failure of trying to touch the divine.

A raw, glitch-poetic critique of digital voyeurism and performative culture. Through fractured code, static, and scream, it mourns the death of genuine experience in the age of endless reaction. A furious elegy for authenticity—streamed, looped, and lost to the algorithm. goes here

A darkly funny, brutally tender reckoning with youthful pretension and the myth of enlightenment. This former “mad prophet” looks back on his thrift-store mysticism, caffeine-fueled revelations, and spiritual hangovers to find that truth isn’t transcendence—it’s survival, and maybe coffee.

A poem of looping memory and stoner time, where basements, lava lamps, and digital echoes blur the line between nostalgia and déjà vu. Here, years stack and rerun, childhood and adolescence colliding with the present in a haze of smoke and music. What if every moment is a rerun—and what if it isn’t?

A raw, unsparing look at American political decay, this poem strips away the fantasy of order and exposes a system propped up by cowardice, profiteering, and denial. There’s no refuge in optimism or irony—just the steady unmaking of democracy, and the uncomfortable truth that no one gets to stand outside the wreckage.

Kerouac haunts the living room, a ghost on the couch and a mirror for every restless thought. In this poem, past and present blur—stories, silence, longing, and the mess left behind. Bodhisattva of cigarettes, failed salvation, and unfinished coffee. Who cleans up when the beat goes on?