the game

kill your whole

family kill

your whole fam

ly kill your

whole family

kill your hole

my sal a

mander my

salaman

der my sal

a man der

my sal a

i am just

resting i

am just rest

ing i am

just resting

i am just

and then the drums

i would go right ahead and excuse shayna from this guy right here. you wouldn’t believe it. An early trumpet practice, cassette tape poetry, and a really, really long ginger ale. she didn’t even get the power point done. professors can yell at you from twitter now. but she read “for catie” for catie’s family and had the poetry boys over stoned and grieving in a let’s get high kind of way.

and then there were the drums she was late and had to wear the pink dashiki just like that nightmare she had because she is afraid of taking a solo, but she took two and at least four people liked it or said they liked it.

and you know, she wasn’t clear on the details with the moustache party or the sea monster gold margarita grapefruit martini cosmo types of events or discourse, but she did say it ended in encino man with bright eyes and dinosaurs and puffer fish and the most discrete kinds of vomiting so i am rather convinced she couldn’t have spit this one out if she tried.

if you need any more information on this series of events, the appropriate pictures have been tagged

---X

radio control in hell

and the sky came down just after the sun rose for the last time

peeking up its ginger head and pulling the covers over again

the sky came down against the grain of the sun rising

and the suns stiff fur rose up and oranged the sky

bristling, tickled the pads of its hands

it came down and decided to stay laying reclined

with it's sunglasses on enumerating all the roads

lost cliffs and pot holes

with the back of his spine he aligned all the cracks and

the sky came down and smoothed out the bends and curves

in our foundations

she's being emotional

the heavy wet tears rolled down like rain and the rain came down too but the rain doesn't need to explain itself and neither do i dammit but i should but the steering wheel stay steady and i will take the rays of red and green bleeding from the streetlights and squeeze them back into their rightful orbs by sucking it back up into my guts but it hurts but it will never be right but i want it to be perfect i want you to be perfect but after you saw that i can cry over anyone you will stop being so mean but it wont be because it's perfect but you finally saw the beautiful inlay and gold filagree on the 300 porcelain arteries you can't unbreak.

the tapes

i found my lover filling a box in the basement

in his remaining form, the mix tapes

all that is left of him is what can be seen

in the curves of capital on white label

and the crackle of almost faithful acetate

lazy ass

the plaid is pleading not to be pleated

on his anus is heinous jameson

a day to my goddamned self

upon leaving my house, a robin.

but not before a long day

laying naked. answering only

to lazy whims, like

what does your face look like at night

or who is martha and did she know

her vineyard would give birth to deaf little grapes

naming “fish” and “i love you” with their waxed purple hands

upon waking, fifteen missed calls

from one phone. and the pebbles between

my toes were jumping beans and i thought of him sitting on wood chairs

naming all the cracks in the wall “shayna” and “i love you” and how he wishes to splay fingers in my mouth

tickling canker sores in my throat

fondling the opposite of my clitoris

upon thought, i took the day off

from anything but being the cool tiles

my cool tile

and my radiator wrapped blanket

that can kiss the shower off my hips

just as well, and leaves me free after to

perform eulogies for hair and nails

aids camp

the kids are hiv positive

but at least it makes the macaroni mayonnaise taste better

i almost cried with the rain

because the coast was so wide

and the sand was so white

and the sky

the sky was so orange

where we're going, we don't need tupperware

my mind

is spinning

in pad thai

and ginger(s)

don’t finger

the feeling

but let it linger

viva negativa

v i v a n e g a t i v a

this block is not about drugs

it’s about impossibly clean tiles

the right angles only meaning not left.

this block is not about god

but about the not-soul. the un-unending

and it feels exactly like before being born.

this block is not about trees

but the shade. a cool absence

from being anything but peace

cheap tequila

my arms are cold

n’ my elbows is raw

not as hot or bold

as your cheap tequila

black 13

the people of pennypound

always went gambling

but never did gamble

for a price, they could

tip the scales for you

some people would save up for years

but

with electromagnetic trick roulettes

and a 20 dollar convenience charge

anyone could be a winner

and everyone would get laid

to bonnie parker

so sorry about spacing on the poem, bonnie.

she was impersonating you and

got a little overenthusiastic with the cap/squirt guns/hard liquor and

broke your pearl necklace, which was sufficient enough trauma

to steal away to her bed

sleeping off the handcuff's safety latch

but leaving one stocking on

a lovely thursday

i'm going to wear your indifference wrapped around my arms

with a ribbon scrolled in a language familiar and cryptic as twins

talking with tongues and elbows

i'll walk on your cool quiet in the pedicured grass, a sign adorning:

"don't you trespass here, your feet will tickle our green watery heads"

and laugh away convention with a rattle

i spend my days painting walls canary and lunar sunset

hula hooping saturn's rings

pulling fate's tablecloth from under stacked wine glass

and lapping pearls from shells with tongue and gum

for the price of your raised eyebrow

and tonight, when i pull the dust of unrequited dancing from between my toes

and set my blessings to pasture, jumping over cedars

i enumerate every stiff brown hair

omg

oh my god did you beat the anchor?

that’s a big black horrible

cherry anchor

dan's sad song

do you remember when

there were birds in the sky

the horizon was wider then

and i'm wonderin' why

in the trees

in the trees

the knotted rots

count the rings

of haves and nots

joint ownership

take our old things and

roll them between your fingers

and i will carry their memories

always in my navel

guy

guy

oh my

eyes tired

sighs rasp high

i was wired

but fired by spry

to slow heat

you simply must excuse shayna today. sitting so slowly in the slug traffic. everything was on fire. all the heat moved faster than the engines and swung around alabaster pillars, resting their sultry foreheads. the cars kept to a crawl, leaving trails. then there were the walks, ever slower. through dusty trails with girlfriend and boyfriend ducks asaunter, waddling warily, worming. with friends. park benches, futons, car seat conversations. the quiet cool evening planning nothing but somehow ending up forty dollars deep and aretha franklin's advice was not heeded when think came up in karaoke.

and was not headed through the day when she thought to herself "i really need to write that poem"

so as you see, it cannot be helped, what's done is done, and the matter will go no further

unless there are updates.

sincerely,

morgan freeman

to engl39250

you'll have to excuse shayna from this assignment

the twisted rubber band brought her back to the spring days

and that old house dress she, according to her data, wore exactly one year ago

she lost her car keys again this morning, and picked up smoking for the fifth time

(for her sore throat, if we're making excuses)

her friends have heard that story with the painkillers and pee wee herman two hundred forty-seven times

yes sir, the snake is still chewing on his scaly asshole

and his green semen falls in recycling triangles

communication patterns with her mother are set in a stone boulder

that rolls down the hill unless she pushes is up again

and to be honest, she has no directions for you

so lest she repeat herself

she suggests we should all subdermally implant tomtoms

to deliver us from aimless

the heat came in

the heat came in

shifting into snow

like tv static

obscuring

grassy walkways

blurring

toes

easter

i sat staring at the rock

waiting for the room

to open, and with it

hope for no

hangovers or sore necks

i waited like that old prostitute

that was put in a hole of her own

years ago

between the first and second

time he came

but it sat, as rocks tend to do

and i waited, in folds of blankets

at the kitchen table

on the city hall grass

by the river

i waited for you to save me

and alchemy my robe

but the room was silent

and the day was long

anniversary

one year and i still hate earthworms

yes, my pores still open and close

leaning to the light like a sunflower

but much has changed

a restless car, a rustless bike

men came and went with a waft of hot air

or stayed to catch the growth of hair

had two jobs, lost two jobs

in soup lines stead, economy blogs

moved out three times, moved in twice

outstayed my welcome, stayed in

i fell in love with the underbelly

blanched and breathing up a fever

two houses collapsed, or three

and i finally took pictures

of yellow, purple outlines of trees

new skills: drinking at bars, parallel parks,

saint patience and daily duties, keeping it cool

rev 12:13 n + 7

when the woman saw that wings had been thrown to the eagle

she persecuted the serpant, who gave birth to the place

the wilderness was given two

she of a great time, so that times could fly from the serpant's time

to her mouth, in the serpant, where water was fed for a woman

torrent, half an earth

from his woman the earth spewed mouth like a river, after the dragon

to sweep her away in a mouth.

but the dragon helped the woman

the war opened its offspring and swallowed up the commandments

that the god had spewed from his testimony.

so the jesus was furious with the he

and left to wage sand against the rest of her sea

those who keep the i of beast and

have the sea about horns

heads stood on the horns of the diadems

shouldn't sleep with the heat on

more dreams

of corrupting pasirian young men

with mothers that hold their cross

and talk the talk but don't let me lay

on their couch.

fuck you, i said

i'm going to have sex with your son anyways

in the ikea poang chair once the coast is clear

and you can whisper dreamy french nothings into me