Wednesday, September 28, 2016

What's Up It's Me 9/27

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
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
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
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

accepting a poem in the bathroom stall 

? ? ? ?

one color for everything

? ? ? ?

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


Monday, September 19, 2016


Vocal doubling in music is 
hummingbird food to me
the cherry on top 
voices coated in sugary red syrup

On the way to the airport
I've already left the place
I'm somewhere inside myself
Looking for symbols and signs
to color the next chapter

Emo Cntd.
Unease traipses lightly around me
an overhead projector casts bad thoughts
onto the walls of my dark hallway behind it all
A hallway like a gap between
Like I'm always peaking around the corner 
at my life, my friends
At the space in between
I really see it like a hallway
Or a layer of asphalt underneath 
with a lowered ceiling that is the ground above 
The space between how I feel 
and how I want to feel
The space between
how... . .

White Jeep Compass
All of our boxed things in a room
All the way across the country
Above the garage 
With sloping ceilings and 
Thick beige carpeting 

My baby's hands twitch
like a puppy when he sleeps
An electrified corpse 
My sweet dreaming Frankenstein

The Spanish moss 
is sleeping in the trees
Every mark on my face 
is a bad thought in my mind


Why Does Clothing Factor So Heavily In My Dreams 1
The humongous store in town 
We take a train to work there 
A red and white gingham print floor length dress
And beaded curtains made up of 
dusty pearly plastic swans and angels for sale

Kiki is growing LSD in flowers
They look like big fluffy hibiscus flowers, lots of chiffon-y layers
The more woven and complex the vines on the trellis,
the more potent the acid
The plants look like braided challah 

Why Does Clothing Factor So Heavily In My Dreams 2
Gap made a line of clothes with nonsense statements on them 
One shirt said 
badass womemem HONestly yellow is for
ft. the image of a blender full of gradient juice

the coolest item was a long red jersey dress 
cut like a large straight t-shirt 
but with Victorian puff sleeves made out of sparkly pink & white tulle 
The back said DEMONER in thick all caps
ft. a beautiful print of a baby devil doll flying