jazz squat

goin somewhere, goin to the square
runnin and runnin and runnin and runnin and runnin and runnin and runnin and runnin and runnin
getting nowhere, i’ll know when i’m there
somethin its somethin its somethin its somethin its somethin its somethin its somethin its somethin its somethin

of pink to white - like wilting down to folded

of pink to white - like wilting down to folded

-a week before, the lush magenta leaves-

the sex of pollen bursting - swoon to fallen

above - a dry one - brittle with brown edges

gives little shelter

.

.

.

the tabernacle rattles

in front of you, behind around

you feel your sisters go before you

as colors change arrange and re arrange

one sumptuous leaf can still flex in the wind

for which no tears are shed

now mulch and motley variances of dead

working hard or hard at work

old shaft jackets and shaftless buttons
leather, fur w/ burns
and old ass hats
w/ feathers and snaps
leave sleeping to subways
and flirting to muttons

comfy

i want rest but i want it all
i want you but i’d rather fall
into my bed and get ahead,
be ready for my day
but my greatest want
is lacking jaunt
and in your bed to stay

film

in a small Cambridge café

it was filmed with big square bright hot lights

and small square dark cardboard to deaden them

there were scripts, binders, skeleton props

we made the skeletons dance, the actors

found work as baristas instead of being baristas

except for homeless man, who was a method actor

or down on his luck

for putting him in costume really cleaned him up

shayna's blues

and if you were my baby, i’d put the spoon in your mouth
like the birds that gurgitate the worms before they migarate to the south

and if you were my pussy, i’d give you fancy feast
cause if i couldn’t make it purr at least i’d make sure you have somethin to eat

and if you were my guitar, i’d give you a strum
your neck may be a bit too long but damn you got a round little bum

and if you were my mink coat, i’d wear you out all around
you’d keep me warm and be a form i’d love to walk around about town

massholes

when I’m saying words to no one
its in a drivers seat
and its for finger light honk
for verbal communication
usually what blurts out is
I don’t like it!
Or
Sorry!
When I’m saying words to you
Is when I’m most not sorry

retro a go go

throw me on your back
you sweet throwback

carry me around in the world
of mustaches, matches

batting eyelashes
full skirts and hair curled

driving again

it’s coming today
panic, swift and hot
a dessert wind
a subdermic shot
to do lists short circuit
and sun stays under the visor
blinding, wanting rest
from the brightness, slowness
tightening of the chest

change

oh to be you
to be anyone else but
what i am

could be a sham
i have feelings in my gut
oh to be new

fifteen things that astound me

i’m having dreams, and i remember them, and i know what they mean

i’m a self aware self sufficient organic machine

fractals

i thought there was a god and now i don’t and i used to think the pieces to the puzzle were random and couldn’t be put together but now i think they’re a little soggy and expanded and you need to work to make everything fit and i’m okay with being in control of my life, even if it’s the only one i have

i repeat my bad habits, but then sometimes i don’t

music (sounds made by people on wood and metal and strings and throats) can make me cry even if there are no words or the words are german.

the mojave desert, with long flat stretches of nothing, , and then mountains climbing up beyond where you will go, and the joshua trees that climb out of the ground and mark you with their stagnant ugliness

people watch television every day. some of these people watch conservative talk shows.

cordyceps fungi. there is one thing out there specifically designed to be the end of you.

self preservation through wealth and popularity is a high priority for the modern human

there is still war. people sign up to kill strangers for convoluted reasons, possibly because it’s a better adrenaline rush than halo 3.

perplexing victorian constructs such as the mutton chop and the penny-farthing bicycle

cchinnamasta, the mahavidya goddess that severs her own head, sending streams of blood from her neck. her, the mother of the universe, the fulfiller of desires, into the mouth of her attendants. she is usually seen standing on kamadeva and rati, fucking on a lotus flower, with her head in hand.

oscar wilde tells the story of salome, also one of decipatation, in heart wrenching prose: I will kiss thy mouth, Iokanaan.

i have an unexplained feeling that i want to smother you in. it’s like love, or a connection, or the desperate need to tell you that i am you and you are me and it’s alright we don’t understand each other completely because when i see you i know that in us all resonates a holy oneness, of whose origin we are ignorant of, but in our darkness we are together.

to the thin classmate darkly

you're so beautiful
i'm glad i get to hear you talk
even if it is off trifolded cardboard

you have eyes that are dark and
deep and sad, with bags
older than i think you are
hair thin but unrestrained
a wild mane wavy, not plain

i don't think you wear pants
but what you don't wear
you wear it well

with dark red lips, secrets you don't tell

you wear black but
you are a pale sad lilly
in a sea of tiffany's, stephanies

thinner than thin, i see you drinking tea
for sleep
in a big warm bed you can disappear
from providence or city

i think you drip sex that
no one can catch
the way your hands in a nervous flex
across your thighs and hips stretch

driving miss me

it's so scary
driving for the first time
alone, in my own car

it started off the same way
i drove my moms kia or the rental
laughing to myself
short and hard low laughs
a laugh of joy and disbelief

the same sound of the laugh that comes out
in frustration
in not getting simple things
like my times tables, and later
monogamous love

then i have my hands on the steering wheel
first at 10 and 2
then one and 12
then 5 and seven

how to make a birthday cake

mad libs poem

i'll add when i find it

donkey show

we invented sexual liberation!
he shouted in my ear
his wife was dancing
with their son, my friend

he wore a dead mans shirt
that rested at old hogs house
until we dusted off purple floral
until it had weird sex appeal

toscanos

tonight we practiced being adults
fumbling over bianco and assorted vino
risotto, bruscetta, scallops, gelato
crystal glasses so stiff and thin they sting
forks with a spiral metal handle
and wasps swarming up the walls

damaged goods

you’re damaged goods
like the vintage i sell
beautiful, exquisite, but
worn in the crown

that doesn’t mean
that i can’t be seen
with you wrapped around me
like a mink, about town

this will be a porm one day

Modernism
RenaissanceRenaissance
Harlem Renaissance
Neo-Classical
neodada
Futurism
Art Nouveau
Pop Art
Post-Impressionism
Post-Modernism
modernism
les nabis prophet
luxus—a name taken from a Latin word meaning "to flow"

thinking about boys

the ones that are brave, the ones that are not
that will do what they love or think they will love
and feel the joy of pursuit

that have loved without remorse, because they know these girls
sex crazed, young, possibly lesbians, compulsive, previously committed
time is not linear, love is not linear, their experience is fleeting and polygasmic

there ones that are not brave, that do what they think they want
but do not know themselves, self loathing and regret coming after indulgence

that sit for the long drives home, only because they can't pace
and go home alone to themselves, counting grains on planks
and might as well have gone to the buffet to gorge
instead of to whores that remain unengorged

it smelled like cinnamon sugar and beer

i want you. i need you. i'm going to consume you.
i'll tear the salt from your fine lined fingertips.
suck the creamy cool of your cornea.
draw a line down the spools of your spine.
buttons meet teeth, pop one, two, three.

don't watch carrie at 1am

hello there
you're up late

late au lait
you're up there

i know what you want but you already are

every single cell screams of beauty beyond time
where stars align, combine
become entwined with the dust of lives

i have so much love and you want all of it

but to reach the sublime, i scatter
myself to let the birds take me
in mouths alighting to pines

i let myself spread
like holes
that grow
in dough
for bread

who am i kidding i fuckin love food

i've been meaning to develop anorexia
so i can see myself, what makes me
bones, control, pathology

i've been meaning to melt into a puddle
of legs on black and white linoleum
to be with the rest of me, all jumbled

my outfit

green shoes
white knit tights
dress blues
belt bright red