beep eyes

how to keep mapping

all the very relative 
and slippery truths in this world

with a mind/heart like a ball

that rolls down certain slopes

no matter where I set it

bouncing off into the negative space
of conversations
and getting stuck there

in a dream smoking a fake cigarette
on a beach with punks
the roiling waves throw
huge green catfish onto the shore
some just missing us
slamming down dramatically

then a restaurant with radios on every table
that announce how close the holy spirit is
by degrees of latitude and longitude
when it gets within a certain range
everyone scrambles to reign in their sinful behavior

I’ve lost my appetite for complexity
as well as for breakfast
feels like there’s no time for theories
despite tomorrow
tomorrow
tomorrow
and tomorrow

who has acid

tomorrow is unclean

and I’m overcome

by “chance” by was 

by with

this week’s desire 

for alt punctuation

a sloppy/bold shape or

deep negative space 

or

one of these summer nights

unhinged

w/ touch

*********

I consider addiction

I dream of jail support

the vibe now is 

dead flowers

something has happened 

to dreaming 

like a blackout curtain

my hair grays in 2 streaks

I waste today in the shape 

      of a        dramatic bridge

approach addicted 

like dreams

drain 

my own bad balloon

its happy

hot air

drunk p

resort to play 

in L shapes 

towards      night love

full bottle and shirt bib the war 

on sub sis tence

the L as min imum

in lieu of 

the unfolding palace

sick of, hell

incomplete 

for fun

prompt

the way tomorrows stay clean

this inside trick 

a clean bone over and—

when my heart clicked

with the rest of me

a big dance hole

a rare deja-vu

the rest of me 

in assembly 

knowing

weakly

possessing Know

tomorrow, our virgin 

an essential skeleton

I'll translate

rounding the corner

under a gray sky

as/if

no one cares

about my excitement

pinning the tail 

on the decoy

the "rest of me"

rehearsing

the end

** ***********

scab

following Stanley’s trail of ripped newspaper

the first scrap I see says “dissecting” 

and the next one “Searching” 

I put my hand out the car window

palm facing up
in the side mirror I’m holding fireworks
and straight ahead
the full moon

this second covid world

is a shattered mirror
I point the sharp edges at myself 

and the letting go never stops

Stanley’s scraps aren’t a sign
those aren’t my fireworks
it’s not my moon
I flip my palm

santa cruz this time

wait but
the longing
is actually fresh

the clash of
configuring fantasies
on their respective tiers

the deserted island for instance

an uplifting,
flat-bed type of fun

the charred logs were
heels for a second
good for my dizzy eyes
to watch two birds fly

so close to
the water

the chill teen
pumps her fists

together, we
watch the surfers
one came
to kiss her

I envy everyone else's
beach experience
mine being laborious
mythologized
insecure and
precious

too gay
to pretend
the boy is mine

one beer
and I'm pissed
or auto-corrected, loaded
title, straight notes 
all these blonds in
relationships I'm gonna
head "home"

one tile in the stucco
one fried egg flower
strung like beads
behind me

two dead aliens
one was a bird and
one was pregnant
both insides out

password written
in shit

walked far with
my shirt full of fruit
the sign said "help"

more fried egg flowers