Check on the 1st Friday of each month for Gabriel’s newest poetic work in progress!

January 2026

“how I will be remembered”

before doing anything

or going anywhere

that he really truly cared about,

Gabe would roll a spliff—

balancing both herbs with precarious care

on the top of a crossed knee,

being sure not to faulter

in his intent to do so.

he would often write

in the third person, and use words

like “I” and “you”

as committed satire masquerading as mysticism.

he’d speak, however, aloud

as this—the first person:

one who knows what names do on purpose,

and what they can be made to conjure.

Gabe says,

                        “I remember myself like the stump of a tree

                        that knows it’s true identity is kept safe,

                        underneath the thing we call ground,

                        down among the roots”.

beneath me is a natural well-spring

that runs parallel to an axe swing.

the type of reflection that proves

water is the only face of god we’ll ever know.

when I go,

I pray that you remember this me,

the one you see now…

…and as I’m sure Gabe would agree,

in the end,      

it don’t fuckin matter anyhow.

whether we wish it or not,

we are and will continue to be

remembered, by the way

in which we remember

ourselves…