so confused about
where I am
missles flying into the waters
of last week
a small treat may tide me over
until the
next atrocity
and the moments feel short
but a shorter distance
from suicide is better
a sunburst from all
the sensitive places
--
which time zone to abide
in terms of wine
a hankering for death
hourglasses in my cheeks
--
how devaststaing to set an alarm
to choose the exact sound on the
other end of sleep
but I can’t sleep anywhere
dream on pause with the twinkle
it stopped just like a movie
me looking around like
--
shit is serious and I want to
bare my soul but
I never thought it would be quite like this
the way the ants come for my blood
the way our drinking water goes green
the way the maggots match my rice
how do we all do it?
how are we not constantly shitting
our pants looking for a new excuse for a treat?
or at least what’s in between
these tiny little bones that last us just one moment
scared of scared and scared of the preference for
death
rolling down hill, even the ants seems confused
and they rule the world
--
writing dark on this pool day
golden august friend day
like a heavy comforter in summer
like a wet, felt blanket
in the middle of the night
--
a throne on a track
royal, yes but
somewhat geriatric
the throne moves forward
the backdrop is painted
drapped hills
rolling around
the pixels, blurry and
creased over
the corners of
a throne case
a small dog runs in front
a small dog intercepts
the start of imperialism
--
things happen this way
a charged body rumbles
and passes in just
one moment
tragic
and it can be
loud even
the intimacy of teeth and
I was there
the beating heart in one’s neck
the flushed skin of being alive
how exhilarating to encounter
this frozen display
in the dark on
a Sunday
? ? ? ?
a tiny arm
is pulling a Q-tip
far inside my ear
against the
doctor’s orders
while I’m desperate
to tug in a breeze
with my mind
for this
window is nothing but
a portal
into more hot air
air even hotter than in here
notes are taken
poems are handed to me
our fascia like a stocking
our fashion
wrapped in summer
stuck in seeking
foliage and
the corner of my eye is
the corner of a leaf
and the corner of my window
is open, they see me
the backs of my eyelids
are cherries glazed red
an old face is looking at my bed
an old neighbor, a dead leaf
those shine marks
a gross closeness
I can’t forget
the dirty pants
like my own and I’m
distracted
am I in a glaze
a 19 year old in a turtle neck,
am I too old for that?
too old for candy or
England or autum
a hovering head is
as light as a feather
as light as no breeze
all I wanted was to write
something light
as light as a feather
is that house yellow or
is that house lit
a 19 year old in a turtle neck
in the garden at St. Marks
nose dripping in the middle
of October and we wonder
where are you now
the santa ana winds
and their fusions of
past obsessions
despite the genre we knew
what we meant
we know now that some things
stay heavy forever
a beautiful display of friendship
not wanting to forget the power of each face
not wanting to forget the power of each face
accepting a poem in the bathroom stall
? ? ? ?
? ? ? ?
one color for everything
dishtowel
socks
music
blue
music
blue
tan lines giving fingers a webbed look
a dot for a belly button
the beach inside my body
it’s psychedelic no drugs
touching me
--
egg shells
chewed gum
dirty tuperware
what the fucks it for
to do lists
long hair
I care
