nice looking
in the mirror
to see the
face you love

sister skin, brother bones

sister skin
brother bones
the things between being
meat, unknowing sin

parade of skeletons
meeting in
streets of demons

we now forgot how to
hock hate and know no love
for our fathers, leaving them

behind like tender dust
we praise the void we
had no choice but to

fill and be a beacon
who can see
our sister skin
is gleaming

i like that we know the same dead people
and that their lookalikes cause disruption
in crowded places

i see him break open bloom
galloping through like
peroxide
in water, thick enough

a rolling consuming boiling blot in the pool,
taking it over in thick roping swirl

dressed in drag
wake up still
all woman and
mostly lady

liquid lines
persist between us

it's fun
being the person
I want you
to see

and you've yet
to deserve the
beyond gender
multitudes
just under the
skin

we will talk once
you buy me panties
in mexico

noonononono like I need the distraction

uncomfortable flutters like
my eyelashes are horses
and how can i possibly look
in the mirror without
circling the glass of my lips
thinking of yours

probably ovulating and swelling with love beyond what the magazines told me about.

us, on separate dates

i'm hanging over the balcony

arms like child arms

and you are below with your big round head 

and I can almost smell it

you're like me, like each other, a juggernaut

wanting to explode, jump, laugh, dream, love

i throw little buttons at you

make faces between acts

try and do that millennial thing 

with my hand and chin; falter.

later, i go home alone

and you too, i assume

a total of four cab rides.

five!  i took one there, while taylor took an arm chair upstairs

and I'm sitting in it, in a silk robe, smoking a roach

taking in the quiet times where i feel most myself, 

dripping languid goddessness

so inspired, i practice dancing. 

fold arms over legs, make new tattoo tableaus.

i think of you

i want to show you what a good time I'm having. 

my autonomous complete loving of the self

i want you to have it with me. 

i stand up, to show you my lap.

i look at my genitals. 

oh yeah, 

the first time i made a stage vagina i looked at this.

this looks like the first stage vagina i made

an old text from an old lover and i droop bit, a kink in the feather in the boa and

a new text from you. you tell me you love me and lightning bolt birds fly out of my chest and up the walls of my room and back again.  

i wanted to say it today and was thinking of ways all day. 
i didn't want to make it weird.
we already make it so, so weird.

Taylor and i mused over it, back to the Cosmo trash advice for invented ideals of woman, politely pleasing man. say you love something about them, say you love it when. i love it when...

then you text me about puke, and i love you too, dude.

eridanos

kind server eyes
trading schoolboy
dick doodles
for less sopohmoric
pussy squiggles

now I look at you
looking at me, later.

I look away quickly
but you saw the whole body blushing
like watercolor blooming
on the drawing

If I had known you were
Hungover
I would have never
Had you carry half of
Crying Styrofoam slabs up stairs

A blunder of feathers and tawny soft claws, a duck footed pigeon where he shouldn't have been, bleak and unknowing. I could have helped, as the risk of a moment. Could have flipped on hazards and moved the little one aside, a seconds hesitation the car continued gliding by and on the way home I hear tales of people we once cared for, now dont. Not out problem anymore, these Syrian children with the same pigeon eyes.

i learn to learn to walk in circles
but bigger every time
going around and outside of myself
but returning to you, and those
i have loved once, and

i drag my foot in the sand and
it covers the raw ginger root feelings
i smash them and turn them into
something useful, and kind

bears all the way (go) down

I find myself under
sedentary layer
of bear
of hairy hairs, grunts and glances
spanning time, and overlapping.

they squeeze me tight
they rip a fart
they sip a bong
they like my art.

they say they do, at any rate
unlike these words
sweet bears are great.

grumpy cafe

let's wonder what I'm doing
or
not think of anything at all

blushing over feelings a decade old,
old friends and lovers, but newness
in a never sleeping city.

no one moves on from me, to
happier things.

am I a destroyer, destruction mother? or,
the light in a sea
of frowns and seeming dead beings?

we are the broken people we
feared we would split into,
circling dustpans and junk yards
too small to hold the pieces of
our hearts.

the old trope of wishing wholeness
but being a bag of bird bones, only
hollow thrush garbles and air where
marrow once was.

god doesn't care about your plans or expectations because he's busy being in every thing and the space between the things also

some days are full of flaky boys
and stale joint pot smoke
smokey cars with
soggy parking ticket floors and
peanut butter jars of coffee
spilling all up into bags

no amount of rags
or baths
or sad dad jokes
or cosmic maths
can just undo
the day that's done

but weeks were fated
to be won

here we go again

Death comes in
uninvited
just in case
you need reminding

your plans, they are
contingent, all.
Death can pause
whispers,whims,
 can give bad cause
or none at all.

define sublime

oh these old things?

looking back at these old things

i learn i live in melancholy 

and if you were here 

i would see you moving past

sad at such a fast pace

on to the next thing always

and feel inspired

or at least, better

or at least, feel

more than your ghost

trust crush

somethin' ta tell ya

barbarella babes
not liberated, just born free
there seems to be a wee difference
how i wish you stayed
to pluck the laurels with me
from my big baby head,
i wished to present, all deference

hair dye and crackers

cheap thrills and luxury comforts
swirling to the same
green blue purple spiral,
i'll be down in crown
triumphant thumbprint

this association, disassociations
sincerity, sarcasm
all falling in on itself
and folding down
I'm(?) bowling over

alright, maybe this time
i won't fall into the same
habits, assigning meaning.
accept the good things

and still my breath on
simpler slits
like your kind eyelids or
warmer nights

even if it's
only this night

make me laugh

winter air here is a sad clown
it will take great greatness

hogtie me up
grease me down
and make both hands the
clawhammer, for my scared sake

if that's what it takes
after measures
so extreme being taken
he denies feeling broken

i hazard laughter