today

got some leads

on the city

from a prof

of poetry

got some reads

on trout fishing

what goes down

is to be seen

FML

i'm not real
this isn't happening
i'm a white screen
to you, a black screen.

N + 7

sorry, avid fans, I'm trying this out. with a paragraph from Miranda July's first book

enjoy.

ahem.

all my everyone
i have had the same hands
its what they call knees
it always unfolds to the same time

except for everyone,
the sex began as it always does
in a low ceilinged consequence
where couples is forced to crawl around
on their hands and beetles.

it's 5 am

hot mess hot mess hot mess
like my greasy four thirty am biscuit sandwich

it was colder earlier
cause i was in a water spitting contest
which is cool cause I had beer poured on my bangs anyways
gave em texxxture

but everything washes away
then the birds sing
n' peck at those two temples

oh no

oh hey.

what?
you want me to write a poem?
oh jesus, it's been another day hasn't it
well. I'm boycotting.
this isn't a poem.
nopenopenope

when you take off the first n
everything is open..
I just thought of a word

nopen

its like a contradiction
not open
or something
I'm never not nopen.




ugh.
I'm wasted.
not even the wasted I was earlier
just wasted on sunshine
long day
of seeing people I care for.


I run my brain through laps
drowned it in smoke
hookah. tokes. cigarettes.
ooh, nat shermans with a touch of mint.
shut up.

my synapses need refurbishing
cracked at the corners
paint peeling
making connections
to the best of their ability
with no help from me.

smoke deprives your brain of oxygen, you know.
the terrible habits I pick up.
jesus.

mmmhmm

today I left
but I haven't gone anywhere
messy bangs
tired elbows and foot arches
belly full of cucumbers

hitlers birthday
is up there on
my list of favorite holidays
but this one
is going dark and slow

to clarify

my savings account
is the keef catcher
on my grinder

my vagina
is the queef catcher
for grinding