cyrusly

i could never be sorry for screaming like wild creatures at the charles with drugs and homosexuals, white sex asses in bus terminals and long breezy grass

another scorcher

give me give me

ice cubed kittens

and days in bed

the heat pressing

us in like

laundromat quarters

sleep bus sleep

excuse her.

this is a hardly day.

new tattoo missing you

i see you in the flaky black painted rust of brooklyn stoops.

and the wood splinters of old telephone poles, bleached and bleeding, talks spanning generations.

i see you in the kitschy confetti of chinese bus upholstery yellow red blur green specks meeting your eyes and finding a home there.

i see you in the shady red convertible memories, when we tied indifference around our necks.

i don't see you now on these strange vanilla bedsheets in a city far from your sweaty july knuckles swinging.

the fact of the matter is i've seen you where you've never been but i see you in the places i want to go be stay live, and on the backs of my eyelids the places i'll never see again.

but i see you most between my ribcage in the shadows reflected off the windows we once called home.

just stop it

late june heats up quick

the clarity comes only with the morning in the ground dregs of coffee

it is always comfortable to drink

i am a house pet, resting blushed cheeks on dirty kitchen linoleum.

tomorrows goanna be another scorcher. scorcher? like yesterday. yesterday?

yesterday you said you'd call sears!

yesterday we said a lot of things.

tomorrow we will say more.

it doesn't mean you are going to break out of this chrysalises anytime soon.

if stoned tuesday afternoons passively absorbing animal planet have taught me anything,

its butterflies aren't your ne'er do well prissy insect ornament.

they worked for their wings.

so don't expect me to just hand over my powder perfect, fluttering paper tripped out ink blot appendages for pinning when i sucker punched natures shell with skinny black arms for three days, looking, hoping, living for life with my head pressed against the sultry june sky, only to come out slimy, disoriented, a little hungover, and a long way to go

let me tell my own fortunes in lost coffee grounds

and the lines on my six little hands

small world

a shark, a rabbit, and a four eyed man are in a park.

didn't i see you on shark week? the four eyed man asked

no, said the shark. i'm a hallucination.

and you, rabbit friend? said the four eyed man.

well, i'm more of a projection of a talking rabbit onto a lethargic park squirrel.

oh. well then.

will i ever find it?

together they reply:

we have all been many things.

we are one.

sometimes, you are part of the one.

but for you, there is often duality:

the four eyed fucker, and every other fucker.

so it doesn't matter what we look like.

you want distance no matter who we are.

and that way, you won't find shit.

then will i ever see you again, shark and rabbit?

you already have, fucker.

i know the score and

i'm sorry for everything*

what i haven't done yet

what i won't do

not sorry for what i can't do**

what i'm about to do will make me sorry

and i'm sorry this wasn't a poem

*i'm not sorry

**sometimes i am

another crash

i hit a man today

not like, domestically, sexually

but

the way he collided into my windshield

his ribs fractalated snowflake solar systems

that obscured vision

dusted the dash

with dangerous, bloody stars.

i was shaking

it was beautiful

to the bed i never sleep in

oh, hi

remember me?

i made you!

...last week

i'm sorry.

i'll try but i'm made of fire

and every tounge licks and crawls

around the people i love

consumes them

with my three in the morning talk

and you don't see any of it but

trust me

when i get back to you

i know it will be soft and sweet

and needed

car song

they picked all of her cherries and they tied them up with string

stuck em in a yellow envelope with lovers words and things

but the postman squished them both together and never was read

the love notes that were truth and beauty turned soggy and red

so i never truly knew how much you loved me

until the day you caught a fuzzy bumble bee

tied a string around it's waist gifted it to me and said

if you let me i would build a shrine for each hair on your head

you think you can keep things close with with strings and knots and so

you keep them close to your chest till you're ready to let go

but i know you don't have to go great lengths and wrap me up in twine

to make you so sure that i'm yours and you are fucking mine.

i didn't need anymore than that young fuzzy bumble bee-ee

newtopia

you!

you are reborn

you are smooth white plaster.

down feathers.

closed eyelids.

(breathing and translucent, never opened)

shayna:

we are the new car smell

we shed like snakes

our skin

too small and fast to see

exploding off us like it had somewhere better to go.

(it didn't)

oh and

in this new and perfect land

the roads smell like fresh laundry

it is not bridges that are burned

every iris is ignited.

you will never see a popped balloon again!

roadkill is dead.

and with the merest feather tickle.

butterflies will drop the strings

of your gut elevator.

again and again.

like a seventh grade morning.

jambo

use what you wrote in your moleskine, bitch

another excuse note

oh christ

excuse her

there was time traveling midgets and

oh...ice cream and

oh...nail polish

some of it in the burly clinical massage chair

some of it on a hot picnic table

painting white to match

she couldn't have

she just couldn't have said anything

hi greg

any day at all darling

is ripe to be

picked out of the hum hum hum

and tossed into a theater

year nineteen sixty nine

rich and sexy

or the day is

soggy tofu croutoned

mix tape talked

sweetness so few know

the soft easy flow

of shakers and mike tests

the can

the sky stayed grey

like it was all week

and did not care about

the lovers quarrels

small as ants on the ground

pills paper

pills paper

beep beep

eleven oh three

a low battery

only if gram bell thought of this tragedy

oh dasterly bastard of phone function standards

haphazard are plans for more longevity

card house

a house of drunks

is a house of cards

fragile

bright

faces that stay the same

and with a new wind

falling flat

jack on queen, aces

sevening fours

all a matchbox and bourbon away from extinction

gah dam

another night

my pink sheets this time

when will i heed last summers advice?

oh you

fireflies fly in small circle pirouettes

while i forget the regrets to begot, beget

old friends

old friends

the bends in the road

lend themself to

the friends of what's been

piss poem

talking through

the bathroom walls

to you

on my lap

forming

the thing i am

crap shes slipping

excuse her. she must return from a boozy somervillian exile in one piece. this is her main concern. love always.

warning

this woman took the bar exam five years ago

with school street dick breath and failed.

she played with the cats and warned us.

don't let this house suck you in and kill your dreams.

the warning fades as the sun moves across the sky.