sniff snaff

i would be lovely

if i wasn't this stuffy

but other than comfy

your bed makes me feel comely

blues berry jam in a minor

do you really think

that every thing is

blue and pink?

do you really like

to get cotton candy from

other guys?

do you really know

if sugar flax is

made of snow?

did you really throw

away your sticky

paper cone?

color choices

hello love

i threw my naked self onto stage

and watched it invent spaghetti

have you held me?

blaber snigit

this poetry thing

it's a sham

i inherited these words

every one

came through their teeth

and leaked into passive ears

i don't even try to

make sense of it

just happens

whats harder

is hearing the nonsense

of words thrown together

like we know what we're

trying to say

remaining water remains

she likes the long silent driving scenes
where no one is a gnarlrocket
only heard is the serene
quiet trickle of serpentines

she thrived in the throws of the city
dance parties of vinylish bowieosity
clusterfuckerish sheets and last and first trains
but the joys of pavement washed off with the rains

the waters and waves moved so rapidly
will technology bring voyeurentity?
with the cries clicks replies
shes surprised to be done

count to craigenty
or maybe
caraigenty one
almost ready
she gasped into a plunge

elation! dinosaurs triumphant

no more gluing roofs to mouths

feeling all confused and queasy

dinosaurs lay silent, sleeping

and dawn cracks the egg over easy

run crew reflections

its the longest month of the year, which doesn't really matter in the theater because it's a 6 call, but on the drive i don't need light to the the houses getting bigger, in fact, it'seasier to tell i'm out of my neck of the woods because the houses of the rich have a glow, the dimmers never fully off and the lawn lights beckoning beacons. the show was wizard of oz. and i was their bitch to the enchanted world of costumes. the ceo of wb mason's wife was the tin man. another wife was named muffy. and the monkeys? they were actual flying monkeys. and what kills me is now how privileged they are monetarily, although that killed me too. not only did these people go home to mansions, but they knew henry. and his presence is a fucking county. my professor. their director. they worked so closely with him. one of the fourteen year old boys knew his boyfriend. i didn't. they broke up and henry dies. the two events were unrelated, only sequential. it was a quiet cancer that ate at him until the shell remained, and even that passed too. but thinking about all that isn't in my job description. i have to dress the munchkin inheritors of the zildjian drum company. tell the tin man she looks beautiful in silver lame while she laments her matte figure and chews ginger. i hear about the scarecrow's sinead o-connor phase at bates, and paint noses that are conveniently upward facing on future lions, dogs, monkeys. i could try to marry rich and procreate soccer playing, balleting spawn. i could work my way toward a scituate utopia, but the yellow brick road rubbed off the soles and the ruby red slippers, glued on glitter.

so so

dino-sore

riche

days of driving by the water

riches trickling in the brine

theres no lying by the water

when you're of a lower kind

exercise in futility

my chain is the thread caught in thoughted knots

unstitching stitches penelope forgot

styro dance windy day

styrofoam hit

dancing on the freeway

gaining glory multiplied

in car crashes and pirouettes

calm fallacy

a life that whispers to you in the technifuzz before sleep.

worry, haste worry. the puzzle pieces won'y make that kitten in a basket of flowers if you shake the box around. find the corners, outside first.

ozzy

seraphim, the song is thin

days are longer than the sun

got me groanin for seratonin

but rest well earned is a job well done

children found

isis: hear my plea

red tide

uncleared water

she shows
projects the puzzle box pandora forgot
kept demons locked in their swaddling cloths
please expound on the difference between
slut and enigma

a low yellow glow
her headlights are cloudy
trying to guide tired eyes
our fathers and her father
left no spikes in the tires

she sewed
a special spot, your name
lest she forgot her soul
was once big, shared loud like
a poor christmas crock pot

he knows
she subsided with a riptide
underwent the undertow
until all to see are
lowest common facial features

waters grow with the
click of the odo and
taps on phone screened

and he knows
the great distances
are ones unseen

vd

romancing the stoned
leaves lackluster bones

sick sickly

cracked is the word for the skin splitting sick that makes her cry mom when she's nowhere around

drown is the feeling of retching and reeling on ice tiles down where her brow found the ground.

best left unseen

your screen saver is randomly generated security cameras. and you have a big screen, so it’s hard to ignore. you say sitting in your bed seeing into a tiny worldwide window is better than none at all. i’d drive myself crazy seeing where i’m not. already in my minds eye see the house party in allston, the dance party in cambridge, the state college thespians at a tone deaf bar, and your moustache quivering down a somervillian sink. i see the places i won’t go tonight, although the details come in the morning with the sports scores. already i see where i could have gone without effort, but what if i tried tonight? what if i wasn’t so damn casual with everything. i doodle with the paintbrush he handed me. what if my weekends were exquisitely composed? friday nights an italian sonnet, french wine, german opera. what if my security camera captured my evenings. wouldn’t be happier. leggings itch, bathrobes don’t. the days ahead are long and numbered, and will not be measured by tagged pictures.

the blizz

the snow came down like turpentine

moving new england pines to sidewalks

and leaving up their absence

we skied with rubber under our feet

and the so familiar streets were

rubbed out in a wet young evening

buzzy bee

my darlings

you're are pushed to the side

until seams align

words sweet plaything do not forget

the tongue that rolls over you and curls into

the bowl that stills there

book stray not from the crooks

in these arms that open to you like question marks

still soft new if not ready

speak to the end of the line about clothing making the terrain

and turning great planes into the hills that haul west to

lick sequins off big queens

h

h

sb fp

ten ball boys

zoom

piss for poets
or this old shit

on your butt

tails tailor

tail tailgate