mystery last month poem

run away

a wayfarer

fair and further

seem forever

don’t care so much

don’t say a thing

don’t mind the mood

you're mentioning

i don’t hold on to it

it holds on to me

and looks up

with big saucer eyes

crying for food

some days

are harder

than others

but my love

at least

it’s real

and honest

and something

two today

sick and twisted thought #12345678910

i have more interest and desire

in my toes and your mouth

than i do in waking

social vexwoking

instead of my walks being in old footsteps

i wonder about those

i have left behind

in my minds exile

(was i ever there?)

chap book

she squeezed her shoulder blades together and between the deltas came a flash of discord and it was like losing hair and the first day of preschool and then when every note agreed with each other the back of the girls head in class turned into the front of the girls head in class and graduation robes became bathrobes and hospital johnnies and they removed them all in front of each other in that instant and over and over again they saw each others naked ness but the puzzle pieces between their bodies trembled and shook and they were not afraid but they certainly were the same as the holy other. The notes lined up the dusk frenched stars into a twinkling grid and the truth fell between them like plinko chips and it felt like every elevator in new york city fell to the ground level in the same moment and the one you want is empty and it is safe it is warm it is sound. It brings you to a level the world agrees with

the three helmet headed

lemon haired

fair weather magnet

she showed up

on this coast

so put polaroids

out to dry and try

coffee, champagne

motorized bikes

we can sleep like

kings in a full

then raise happy like

white cotton, black leather

deep eshe

there she is

there's the chick that

cooks hamburgers

and makes everyone

drive backwards

she rules the country

come on

polite dinner conversation

i’m done with

casual dates

just looking for someone

to hibernate and die with

yeah

i’m into nestin and restin

easy as turning n’s to r’s

then lying down

i like being single

i’m single and ready to mingle!

no more like

single and ready to fuck off

like

i already know what's

going to happen

we are going to love each other

and hate each other so much

matthew six twenty eight

consider please

lillies blooming

in warm kitchens

how they burst with sex

and rot to the floor

this little girl

crawls under your desk

stockings trail behind

like a malcovitch portal

blazes a trail of smoke

tumbling down stairs

and she knows

he will care for me

and she folds her hands

and she knows

the lillies are beautiful

and everything

is destined for rotten grounding

pomegranate

fruit of the dead

skin between teeth

how did i get here?

persephone,

perky titted class act

taking your place

and we will wait out

the winter in hades

until spring brings back

a want for the my, the me

unicorn shirt

big and white like

the very first time

but now television and

video home system

and steve martin

are second cotton

needle hopscotch

if we need to still fuck to be friends, we can do that.

do it i will get so hard you will love it.

you're not going to find what you want making me breakfast.

those were the first big tits i've felt in a while. so, thanks.

i can justify anything.

your pictures have risen to the ranks of most masturbated to.

i'm sure this sucks to hear but i already do.

if we need to still fuck to be friends, we can do that.

do it i will get so hard you will love it.

you're not going to find what you want making me breakfast.

those were the first big tits i've felt in a while. so, thanks.

i can justify anything.

your pictures have risen to the ranks of most masturbated to.

i'm sure this sucks to hear but i already do.

if we need to still fuck to be friends, we can do that.

do it i will get so hard you will love it.

you're not going to find what you want making me breakfast.

those were the first big tits i've felt in a while. so, thanks.

i can justify anything.

your pictures have risen to the ranks of most masturbated to.

i'm sure this sucks to hear but i already do.

veins

if you’re reading this

you didn’t keep your promise

and if you’re not reading this

well, i still don’t trust you

but, your red veins

of steadfast devotion

i’m returning by post

if my blood moves without

you beside them

you can blame caffeine

otherwise

i am still and baby blue

like shoe crab blood

at the bottom of the sea

waiting

with perpendicular sting

fluves

i taught my shoes how to multiply by five

they turn tiny toes under, undertaking

in ten wing tipped caskets. a warning

that warming where you want it most

only leads to bleeding out their ghosts.

the day

this was

the day

for the poem

of new love

or a pedicure

but we d nice

agent orange

watching porn

you cool too

the way home

the road safe

are steady, even

paces

even stride

even strife

the luxury of silence

in the still dim room

that went quiet on her

she couldn’t even hear

her toes wiggle

under the sheets

her porcelain friends

looked on with

silent apathy

in the cold new

england bed room

that contained her

warming body and

broken heart, she

squeezed her eyes

shut and when that

didn’t work she

rubbed her

eyes with her

fists until stars

came out

and when that didn’t work

she thought about

backwards beatles and

whistled to herself

the world must let me focus

or my mind will let me go

nothing seemed to work so

she just prayed with wheat pennies

between her teeth and it went like

please and please please and

one two three four five six seven eight

harvest

weekends of pleasant distraction and distant dissent

explaining my religion to the son of a preacher man

through telephone wires, but he already has his sorries

lifted from a proud chest and picks pennies from my eyes

a harvest of bright and bounty. he whispered in my electronic ear

i followed your small words for a month, the month after i left

and i wonder, how many months are left in you?

your tabs that my phone thinks i like to see

feed me reiterations of feeds i’m reading

please tell me it’s because you feel nothing and want something

tell me your heart sings while it is throwing up in an enflamed elevator

tell my you’re wrong and not sorry but you’re ready - i’ll tell you i spent my time waiting

by dancing in the autumn leaves, my petticoat, perfect flower blooming at the tops of stairways

and they are strong enough to carry me flights and fights, to leap, lovely, open the tops of skylines

spindles tickling toes, but what ten tender tendrils want is to splay, displayed and perfect

on your sheepish skins.

warm flop

i love you and i know

you are tired but you still

tend to abused bruises

in the concave tabernacle

of your bathroom

and you lay me open with

hard healing hands, say

we never need to be sorry

your hands heal

they are old and you use them

to dry my back and you say

you'll catch your death of cold like this

and you ask who he is and i ask

who who is and you give me the look

you have given me fifty seven times

and i say you are crazy but you know

how many ways this road goes

rituals

i am certain my true love

is an aquarius.

i do not know when

my shower head was born, but

as an air sign with a cold empty house

we get along far too well to

ever be apart

i don't need to justify anything

do you spend your days walking and withering and wondering

how do i get the guilt lines from my face, sorries from my wrinkles?

i can take your fingers and put them near my fingers and show you the in between:

it is the wheat penny

you can rub it and you will think of america

it is lost but it is warm and it is okay

the stalks of wheat are oxidized but triumphant, forgiving

we say together oh hello hallow wheaties

we hear her trumpets call

and we don't need to be sorry about anything

we are missing the men who take magic from young girls dress

and we know they know we think they

shouldn't be sorry about anything

we love our long lipped harborers of hearts

and we think they know we think they

should never ever ever have to be sorry

the wheat penny is a totem with variables

dali had the back of his wife

and her, her ten tiny hanging bulbs

and i wipe the silver air off antlers

and horseshoe crabs off drift wood and

i think about america

it is cold and edgy but it is nothing

and never has to be sorry

the shame spiral

my shame spiral starts with a top drawer

makes a detour to our footstool

and tapers to the tops of toes

the only thing is

it is recursive

and she, flips over again

until my room is all upside down

and repeating myself to turn sand sides

where do you want it?

i want you in the rays of sunshine

that fall on my bed in the morning

we can stretch our limbs together

and feel sugar racing through our veins

beating against gravity

i want you in a big bigger pot

the best one. it is thick and

white and has naked greeks

on it for reasons of credibility.

everyone will know you are a

worthwhile plant if you are

rooted in classic phalluses

i want you like you want water

i want you to want me like water

i want to want water like i want you

i want you in my homework

i have no control but, would

love you as my science project.

i will tilt my cassette player into

your bowl and see what music makes

little leaves tremble.

that old chestnut

sweet bellied baby

let's get back to boring

my eyes have been so

wide for too long

trying on excited

is just so tiring,

hard backed honey

let's stay in our song

stubbly lipped darling

let's backtrack to stagnant

you know i can't love you

i know that you care

but remove my new clothes

you sweet bellied baby

and my thighs will find

an old home for you there

hello hollow hallow

the second best whistler in the city

wore his skeleton like a victory

you're a psycho

i wake up and

my body takes nothing

my veins are so calm that's

how i found out it's wrong

it's not a panic attack

i'm just in attack mode

and when i take my time

not with timelines or lines

its prime time thighs and

high blithe hips unwinding

and it's fine find me twisted

all tied in your binding

i'm heading ahead like

heads of lettuce in bedding

let us rush in and

i'll be russian dressing

don't you worry i

saved all my hurry

for someone who

can hurry up too

we'll press fast forward and

head more toward

a home like us non psychos do

you're out of excuses

and don't think your clueless

i know who got to

have you clued in

so don't think your planning

will give you a hand in

releasing the jam that

you jammed yourself in

what i'm thinking is if

you stay put without blinking

the thing that you think

is so great is unwilling

and unwitting is fitting

but if you get found out

i'll hear all your shouting

but can't help the drowning

what a gay ass pantoum

i want to take the world by storm

but only from my bed

this need to be so nice and warm

will not escape my head

but only from my bed

can i hear voices of our dreams

will not escape my head

now, i keep them bursting at the seams

can i hear voices of our dreams

within any other bedding

no, i keep them bursting at the seams

they'll explode me where i'm heading

RE: 1

synthesize touch/sight

seeing neon non petals

open behind closed

eyes. electrifying

legs slick shaved down

a first time for fall

and i press them against

your back i think about

all the layers it took

between getting here.

smell me smelling of

rain and leather, and

a weather and half hour permitting

you want to help me and you take

take my hand and it is small and

smooth and warm and yours is

big and cold and hard but it feels

like mine and its no surprise that when

i peer into where you keep your secrets

i say i love you and i'm not sorry we don't

need to be sorry and you take

take my hand and i feel like i'm

crossing the street but when i get there

there is no earthquake now but it is still

the same fuzzy humble low moan just

holding me under like a corduroy pillow

x-ray

some days

you find videos

on the internet

of an ex lover

playing a song

from when

you spent

your first night

together

and some girl

is singing it

with him

in a guitar center

and you reread

and reread and

you know

that people change

but don't forget

the rest

how to fold cardboard in three easy steps:

1. fold

2. rest

3. rest

i have been

i have been

many people to you

please believe

they have all been true

some days

you eat goat and wonder in the rain

why i should be walking under awnings

you honey blonde baby

when she stared at herself in the mirror

her skin glowed like honeycomb

her hair stared back from ants in amber.

her breast hung like a happy hammock

vacationed, ethereal, white cotton woven

waiting for swinging on seasons and seasons

boo please back to action, a boomerang boon

come again

tuffets a pubes.

buckets a lube.

no greater

the space between us

is no greater than

air containing galaxies

or

the holes of our pores

the daze blur

we are good at sleeping

it helps me forget

he is somewhere else

and you can't remember

that i cannot be here

not really

panic: calm

our religion has a call and response

'i’m so sorry about everything'

'you don’t have to be sorry about anything'

sometimes we switch parts

but there is always sandalwood swinging between us

i walk through between around linoleum tiles

so white. sucking me in

i rub the relic of our religion

it is a wheat penny

fondling the stalks, think about america

it is wide and yellow, asleep and nothing

in my dreams there are vampires

they tell me i suck blood, i am a vampire too

no no, i say, i just drink ginger ale and eat gram crackers

in a recovery room with a dopey grin on my face

sucking that hard is against my religion

nobody has to be sorry about anything

i offer them ginger ale and gram crackers

but they think i should go to a vampire party instead

i politely decline and spend the rest of my dreams in bed

art of losing blah blah

i have gotten so good

at losing things

that they are gone

well before arrival

still, i walk in slow circles

pacing eulogies, wearing soles

making sure that the things

that never knew they were

feel some beauty, love

and let stardust sprinkle

sleep in stillborn eyes

candidate for worst ever

on the night she was born

the room was cold

and she thought

about the gifts shed return

for a blanket

say it's so

take all your fatigue

lay it down on me

like a lead blanket

i’ll be so still

keep me where you want

i won’t say one word

until you told me

to speak i will

it was a nice day

write a nice poem for jeff will ya?

you depressed sack of shit

mature

poop hole pooed in poo pool

honkey

i hope all the trumpets and colors and dancing and crisp air

were a distraction for you

but sometimes i think

you need a distraction from

colorful, blaring, dancing, fresh fall me. i am wanting and living too much.

Because Cunts Care - or - Bi Curious Charlatans - or - Breathe, Cool, Calm

the white plastic rectangle

on my right tit

reluctantly reads

"sandwich girlfriend"

four plush pink lips part

in a question mark

asking everything of

four white silent walls

embroidered

on my pink panties

and sweet ass is

"wouldn't you like to know"

big red

my autumns taste

like blood and cinnamon

now

and sink i hope

you know when i spit

on you

that you didn't

do anything

wrong

to mr braudigan

dick

i wish

i could make

them love me

like you do

so i wouldn’t

have to

(have to)

stay in bed

all day

with you

lost?

was too depressed to write anything

but post script, i will say, as evidence

SHAYNA: be proud of me i almost made it six days

KAITLYN: and it was the most miserable i’ve ever seen you

SHAYNA: that’s because it’s the most miserable i’ve ever been

KAITLYN: i know

my hair

is abandoning ship

waking up is hard enough but

i have to say hello to dozens

of tiny skinny redbrown corpses

that have agreed with my

internal sentiment

freewrite before work

a lie you told me

i play over and over like a record

i’m determined to break the needle on:

"if we need to fuck to still be friends

we can do that"

this and urinating while crying

is most likely why my head hurts

they skip your songs at the café

and cover my ears when we walk by them

(my friends are good friends)

i eat with them so they can see

that i ate something

they smoke with me so they know

i’ll sleep (too much or so little but it’s something)

in addition to you

i have lost my orgasm

i looked everywhere

it doesn’t want me anymore

i keep leaving it notes

on loose leaf paper that say

please one more please

sometimes i think

fucking you would do it

sometimes i think

i would just cry too much

but all the time

i do think about it

or at least

waking up in the morning

and laughing for three hours

before our bodies forced us out of bed

craving french toast and beer

i stand by what i said about my top

three breakfasts

(the other two were buffers)

i am sorry that i love you

i’m sorry i thought i could

fight moral battles to

find love in the crooks of arms for me

i’m sorry we can’t be friends

i’m sorry i’m working hard

to one day not be sorry

about any of this

two things you should know:

i always looked for something new

in my lovers. but now

i’ll have to look for this.

i fell off again on the way to your house

but you tried so hard not to look at my scrapes

you didn’t notice

i was bleeding and shaking and covered in dirt

but around you i always feel like

i’m bleeding and shaking and covered in dirt

and the muffin batter was fine so

i didn’t think to mention it.

sad ways to pass time

a playground pioneer

i mapped out

the surrounding

lands of the little

just so i know

where i can go

to smoke at 5

and never find you

on day two she said

my body measures time for me.

i painted my pinkie nail white

a “10 day no chip” guarante

one of the last times i saw you.

it is half gone.

seven days ago

my legs were red, embedded in asphalt

now, the hurt skin sheds like tiny oak leaves

and my knees turn hard and and black

designed to keep everything out.

the last time i got a haircut was for the wedding

where i excused myself for an hour or more

just to hear you make me laugh on the phone

my chartreuse cotton taffeta ass perched on

parking space cement blocks, railings

and perhaps you liked to know

how my knees fall at your whistle and that

so easily i put my face above that white dress

in the heat and joy and love of the evening

but my little tendrils grew long

and i’m shy and shaggy now

a mess is a better word.

last, quite literally

my toes remain blue and lovely

but poke at my socks

and ask them

have you seen the boy

that made her skin glow

and sucked out the grey

flaked sadness

we have all become

frank o'hara eat your heart out

it is four forty seven pee em

i have been up for almost six hours

and have found zero reasons to leave my room

escaping to the city, my city, would be of no use

i would be trading chaos for chaos.

it is almost five and i

i cannot leave my bed

i keep thinking of the dream

(ten hours is a lot of time for dreaming)

where the cafe turned into an

ice cream shop and i was so excited

they had toffee and i hoped they would

have peanut butter should you ever come

to visit

in the dream i had the best pedicure of my life

but she shaved off my heel and it looked like

my healing legs. i peeled off the skin like paint chips

and i hoped you wouldn't notice.

i arranged my drugs and forgot to take them

then looked at my packed bowl and my

antibiotics and arnica and laughed and laughed

and sat and sat and died and died

my shoes came in the mail

they are pretty to look at but

too big and i know even if they

were perfect i would not be happy.

resignation letter

i hope you have given up on these little thoughts. they are mine and they are not to be loved. i'm getting far less "i like that about you's", which is a thing, maybe i never said it, that i really, really like about you. there are no more cheek to lip fake outs in the bars of cafes. this is all to be expected. i am sick at the thought of remembering these moments for the rest of my life. i want to grow out of them, grow out of you, and discard the husk that was once my sexed pink skin in the autumn leaves. i want to be well. i want you to see me happy and normal, not sick with grief. believe me, i'm trying to find peace, but my mind, and the things it thinks it needs, are so strong. so this is my resignation letter. the one i will never send but know i should. i want so badly to be near you and there for you and happy and bright and helpful but my words and actions are poison.

by the way, she doesn't love you. she loves an idea of you, the one you choose to project. if she knew the real you, she wouldn't love you anymore. so you will keep yourself inside your chest and try and forget it but you can't. i'm not telling you anything you don't already know. it's easy to play a part for a weekend. if you don't live together there is not much to fight about. but you both seem to manage. i could take her away from you in 160 characters or less. i wouldn't, i wouldn't, but i understand the people who do now. i never did before. i never understood monogamy, jealousy, unrequited love. spending hours on mixtapes and other nice things without ever expecting to be reciprocated. my love was a business, a well run machine, something i gave in equal parts to those that wanted it. something superficial and something that never hurt. something very, very comfortable. i realize my love is not comfortable to you. it is strange and new and hard and fast and something maybe you can't understand or are afraid of or do not trust. that's fine. i can't expect you to switch from a huge fucking lazy boy to whatever this is.

please know i still believe i can make you happy. please believe i still think somewhere down the line, this could work out. i'm in a bad place maybe, and maybe you helped me get there, or maybe i did it all to myself. but know, please know, i have never felt such affection and admiration for someone like this before. i don't think you deserve it, but i want you to have it. it's the most important feeling i've ever had and it's the only one i have left. maybe i can't talk to you as much anymore. maybe i can't talk to you at all. maybe the only way i can get better is if i pretend all of this didn't happen. i don't want that. i want our old dynamic back. this new one is too painful, too dead. but know, in my little blue and white room, surrounded by my records and little glass animals, tucking my toes into clean white sheets every night, all i will be able to think about is this boy i have loved with everything i have who didn't want it and now it's gone.

ps: i don't think you will ever read this, but thank you for reading it at some point. it made me feel very special.

say anything

something about

your talk

the timbre

tempo

thoughts

tone

reminds me

of everyone

i have loved

but only

my favorite

parts of them

and the boy

to maybe fool himself into going but mostly to see what he was missing, the boy visited the campus he would never attend. and on that day, he would confuse a sweet little stoner chick with honey blonde hair for someone prescribed to him by destiny. they got really, really high, the boy especially, and talked all night, making out a little before bed. he tossed and turned, this boy who belonged here but not in this bed exactly, and couldn't find sleep in him. he quietly left and went for a long walk. by the time he was in front of the teashop, it was the darkest it would be before dawn, and he was a shadow. she was too, but in his heart of hearts, past all the anxieties and hesitation and general disbelief that anything good would happen to him, he knew it was her. wide eyed and very stoned, he quickly left the scene, but failed to convince himself it was a hallucination.

in the shop

she dropped her keys three times before breaking into the tea shop, but she decided she would have a good reading because three is a good number. to amuse herself and make up for lost time, she flung her body on the counter and rolled behind it to her tea leaves, like a slightly faster action movie. gingerly uncapping the jar, she rubbed the leaves between her fingers until some of them broke into her favorite mug. holding onto the mug full of warm water while it steeped made her sleepy so she closed her eyes. she thought about him in his city that wasn't this city, in a bed that wasn't her bed, and in a life that wasn't her life. upon a long exhale, she knew the tea was done, and looked straight ahead.

on the other side of a plate of floor to ceiling glass, on the opposite side of

the street, was a very normal looking man, with the exception of his stillness. he could have been confused for a lamp post if he had one leg and wasn't wearing a hoodie. he was looking straight at her and he looked scared, or perhaps he looked like nothing. startled, she dropped the mug, her favorite one. it shattered and the hot water burned her toes (she likes to remove her shoes when she's alone). she was startled and jumped and took off her socks and by the time she looked up again he was gone. she looked down. each individual dredge was pointing in the same direction, like a sad magnet that couldn't lie even if it wanted to.

at the bar

tonight!

she declared with great bravado

i will read.

and i will know how he is doing

you are drunk

the bartender said

and you know he is always

doing scared and miserable

maybe he had a good day

he could have seen

a bratty child faceplant

or he could have gotten a job

and maybe those things make

him smile

from what you have told me

said the bartender

nothing makes him smile.

i could make him smile

she emphatically slurred

then frowned and slumped

in her chair for a moment

before rolling off of it like it was

the hood of a car

in a shitty action movie

where no one gets the girl

to paint perchance to dream

tomorrow is a blank slate

i'm happy to fill in the lines

but we could flesh it out

but seriously

shanus shits on richards

shayla queefs on dicks

shaynal bleeding's heinous

anus has the shits

another one

i can mix popsicles with vodka

but i'm still drunk and sweet

on your smile

i can have a house full of friends

but i'm still alone on the couch

with you

reluctant writing

i'd rather go quiet on today

but if you must know

some things

i will tell you good things

like how i bought how my room is going to smell

and i can eat chips with the back of my mouth

kind of

and agent orange is a repeat offender like you

so like, don't feel bad because everyone is

a confused asshole with too much love

write a tasteful and elegant poem about your gum surgery and jeff mangum and put it here.

mention i am listening to hear where you are and tomatoes

and how you hope heaven is like being in a big wood theater in the round singing along with everybody

lessons with tolle 1

let go

ego

let go

things

let go

clothing

let go

everything.

everything

is out there

set it

all free

today's the day

i catch myself

folding laundry

arranging books

boiling water

reading in repose

and wondering

if you found me here

would you like

the arrangement

and rituals

i have chosen

for my life

without you

lets cross paths between days and fall in love

i saw her under her bright orange umbrella

as one day was ending and another beginning

for such gay rainy garb she looked so sad

she may have been crying. she kept her head low

i don’t know her but i know she is beautiful in her sadness

and all i wanted in that moment was to kiss her forehead

shuffling wet bangs with my thumb. i loved her in her

dress she wore like a hospital gown.

i want to know her and make her smile

because then she will never have

to wear her hospital gown like a dress.

dream #1334

hello?

boy number one?

this is the part where

you come in stage left with

fake plastic flowers

and say

i love you and

i always will my darling

but i caught you in

the isles

he stood there

with big blank eyes

in an oversized blazer and

tophat. holding the flowers down

by his side. miss, he said. i know how badly

you wanted me to. and i didn’t believe you and

i stayed in bed all day that day just sick at the thought of you

out here in your directors chair and your blonde bright beautiful head

dream #257

he was walking down the street and everything was familiar but it couldn’t have been home. no one was on the street and no one was in their house. he walked and walked and stopped in front of the piano. it was in the middle of the road and so was she. they stared at each other with great reverence.

“i’m moving”

she said after a great while

“me too”

,he replied.

“i don’t want to move”

(she looked tired)

“I don’t want either one of us to move”

(and he was in love)

so they sat on the piano bench together and when she looked down it looked like the belly of a big cat and when he looked down it looked like a sleeping python.

“do you want to hear the song i wrote?”

she put her hands over the piano and every key was depressed. every key was depressed and the sun moved across the sky like a scared sacred purple comet and when it kissed the horizon it could not process the beauty of every puzzle fitting with every other puzzle ever. so it exploded like a firework and the sunset - in that way - ate the sky. i liked it he said thank you she said. he went to open his mouth to ask her something but instead of words there were eight thousand bees. they circled around them both. she looked sad but she is smiling. she is smiling.

in the morning

when he woke up

it was to a body covered

in hives and ejaculate

and it was his own.

.w.o.m.p.i.t.m.

i am

notice ably slow er

when i smoke weed

on my porch

in the morning

a beginners guide to moving

take everything from your room and put it in boxes and wrapped paper

take all the things out of the wrapped paper and boxes and put them in your room

books on the bookshelf

sex toys in the toy chest

dishes dish rack

food fridge for food

paint the walls

not the color

of your ex lovers hair

(skin is fine)

frame everything

you are now an adult

ununpacked

too sleepy to see
monsters creeping
past sheets and things
too big to beat

a love between two people

when you press two thumbs

between my ribs

you pave

the way

for a river.

blessed irrigation.

we can feed families our love

found poems from october

the girl who read the white peony leaves (in solitude)

wiped the counter (to be noticed)

she wanted to be seen by a boy

who would only come into her tea shop once

and she would be sick that day.

she knew this by looking into

the bottom of her cup.

still. it helps to seduce the pyrex

in a way that says

i'm in control of my destiny

***

and the boy sat in his prefabricated predestined dorm room

surfing open source pornographic video sites

looking for a girl he had only seen in his dreams.

he was twelve. so moved by

the woman he loved before knowing

if she was conceived in this century or the next or never

that he drew a picture of her

it was a crude but technically accurate depiction

down to her flat matted blonde hairs.

unmoved by the offerings of the world wide web

he gingerly unfolded his muse again and relieved himself.

***

in the late afternoon

when the sun

hit the counter

in a way

that lit up her smile

and electrified

little baby blonde hairs

crowning her face

escaping the dread locks

she would confuse

the leaky steam wand

for a squeaky door

this is how

she wanted him

to find her

***

she wiped dust off the teacups

with a white fresh rag

and thought about her shop.

it was tuesday at ten.

most students were in class

most god fearing houusewives were at the

fundamentals for fundamentalists knitting circles.

the ones that did not fear god had the luxury

of idling on the sofa, uncaffienated,

the men were at work.

***

have you seen my dream girl?

she goes to the college i was too scared to leave home for.

she works at the tea shop there, and reads

leaves at the bar when shes drank enough.

she is too good at it, so she never likes to read sober.

she sees my face in the dredges of white peony

and smiles sadly, knowing

that inaction is the folly of man.

***

have you seen my dream girl?

she lives in a city that holds

my stillborn successes to her skyscraper chest.

she works in a place i can't afford but know i should

i'm sure she works there

she smells like honey and rain and dry earth

rubbing between her finger

i'm sure her shoulder blades point

to the highest stars in the heaven

and fly past penthouses.

have you seen my dream girl?

she saves my life in a mini mall

full of tall grass

by regurgitating orange julius

into my mouth. right before i wake up.

i wake up and shes gone

i don't have a number to receive desperate texts

or solid material for a missed connection

please tell me if you've seen her

she's light on her feet but sure in her step

there can't be many people like that left.

she puts her arches to the ground

as a descendant of salome, lifting her step.

so light on her feet

is the girl of my dreams, that she leaps over

begrudging push carts and undeserving oak leaves

on her way to work. she performs her tasks

with beauty and duty and grace

and never even misses me

love er bust

when hitchhiking across mattresses

jumping from sealy to sleepys

memory foam. box spring.

my feet never touch the ground

my face falls to earth when i wake up

and see sleep lines have spelt

out your name. panicing

i look out. horizion lines bleed

a pale orange blue and you

are not there.

i survived

this hurricane

was horrible

everyone tweeted

about the treats

they were making

without me

i have a sick slick stick stickley couldn't give a dick and if you wanna rick rick lime rickey goanna get with me play some fuckin frisbee bettah fuckin quiz me what it be im a nerd see see or don't see me.

panties

the most permanent mark you left

are the bleach marks on my panties

a curiosity created

by your order of operations

for hydrogen peroxide

and oral sex.

it took me a while to discover

that i wasn't cloroxing my laundry

in freakishly consistent locations.

and i wasn't excreting acid.

what i'm trying to say is.

there was no big mystery

this year. about why my

most hidden spots.

look so washed out.

dingdong

sorry to bother you.

did i catch you at a bad time?

should i come back later?

i hate to inconvenience you.

i know this is a difficult period.

i just thought. well maybe.

we could love each other

and you could make my pores open

and they could talk to your pores

they would breath and laugh everywhere

sustaining the Other

bodies singing with touch

tasting the infinite cosmic calm

...nonono it's cool.

no worries.

i'll just...yeah.

see ya.

12345678

please

please

please

please

please

please

please

please

please

please

please

please

please

please

please

please

sex for one please!

i am anti midas

turns out everything i touch

turns to shit

but a least

i'm a chronic masturbator

and a fecalpheliac

so i don't really need

to bother anybody

night 4

the tattoo ink was a nice cover up

and dripped down my side as he

fumbled through his belt in a hush

he poured the tattoo ink and said

hey. do a good job at making this

more meaningful than it is.

as usual, the tattoo ink gave a half smile

and scoffed. whatever man, he says

just don't drag me into this fucking mess

you're the fucking mess! i hate whispered

but the words were slurred and thick

and i know

the tattoo ink will never take you seriously

with tears in your eyes.

so i lowered them. and ran my fingers

through the warm, wet, black puddles.

or diet dr pepper

sweet and low

gets a bad rep

because everything

is a shitty substitution

sugar substitutes whole foods

that make a steady pep pep pep

sugar substitutes substitute sugar

we get a rush and forget about fiber.

fuck complex carbs. this is america.

he is coke zero. roller coaster tycoon.

he is 21 y/o single wants to live chat NOW

he is rubber corks, digimon, decaf skim

sugar free vanilla iced latte just drink a water

you fucking BITCH.

you are the bread water base jump

real live butterflies, not pinned in a box

you are the ginger ale my mom stirred

all the bubbles out of when i was sick.

you are the grass i grab and pull, sitting

outside in the sun. you are not from concentrate.

picked fresh daily, vanilla extract extracted from vanilla

and in actual, actual reality

i like that about you.

but i'm still drinking diet coke.

to the girl with the baby blue luggage

oh darling, you look tired

have you been traveling long?

you have the look

the corners of your eyes

wrinkle and shine

your toes want to leave

baby powder on carpets

your things are folded neatly

everything in its place

although you are so transient

please consider my offer

of perching you

on your stack of luggage

i can sing to you

and it will be so sweet and safe

and you may even find me

a small place as a guest

in that big empty room

before you unzip your files

and decompress

we can scream and sing

and the noise will

bounce back to us

in your hollow home

wrapping around four ears

like a bandage, holding it in

and everything

everything will be fine

oscar has liberated

when i have children i will tell them

i never got to test drive my motor scooter

and that, a man with a lotus on his neck

well, he died. and i wanted to ride his memory

but the day it came i was not happy.

I MADE A MISTAKE. I DO NOT KNOW

HOW TO RIDE SCOOTERS.

I HAVE NEVER KNOWN THIS

TO BE TRUE ABOUT MYSELF.

I WILL SHAKE AND SHAKE

AND CRASH AND CRASH

AND DIE AND DIE

the thing i so badly wanted will

be my folly and i will crash and burn

like the lotus man. like everyone else.

that, my sweet child, was the summer

where i discovered if you want something,

it is best to try and get it. you can stretch

out the dangerous what-ifs into a blanket

and roll yourself up in an air conditioned room

where everything is nice. familiar. a comfort.

but you will never fall in love with the wind in your hair.

screaming at the black yellow curves:

I HAVE LOVED YOU

AND I WILL LOVE

WHO YOU HAVE MADE ME.

the never we

you never had the will to wonder

what i looked like with a scarf on

and how this hey girl hibernates

see me in gossamer cotton please

going up the stairs on my knees

begging and beautiful, a memory

keep it between your teeth, and

spitting out songs just think of

the never we and not planning

down and down

there was a place you used to call home

but that, that's all over now

and i liken the feeling

to screaming tea kettles

and sleeves hanging over the dawn

there was a life we used to call ours

and we raced in great lanes

roman chariot cars

but our town was a circle

and all of the hurdles

were games that they trained

to be playing along

long weekend

lengthening my hours

is the greatest talent of your absence

miles away, you lay my life over your knee

and with greatest care

your flat steady fingers

smooth out the wrinkles

until days wrap around hills

and minutes are mountains

sry

you

don't get it

and you can't get it

because you just don't get

it. you've never had it, which

leads me to believe you never will.

perhaps you believe you are on the cusp

the breaking point, about to spill out with love

and understanding. well let me be the first to gently,

painfully, and with great regret tell you that you are wrong

real or imagined, the blockades before you will steadfastly prevail

wait!

every room is a waiting room

i move freely, place to place

never with any prospect, progress

i hold my teeth in my hands

they are defaulted, smiling

it's not news, it's not you

perhaps a message, a...

all i care to know

frozen indecisive exile

is what i am waiting for

espresso lime rickey bomb

i'm going to write this poem for you really really fast.  if spacebars weren't like breathing i would say fuck it but let's see let's see. i love you like streets with no potholes you let me stand up at 30 miles or put my feet over the handle bars if she prefers. i love you like the summer nights where i pass full speed the same stores and bars and some people are new and beautiful, in love and dying. i love you like three shots of espresso in a raspberry lime rickey for free.

my type

my type of neighborhood

is where i can come home

and see everyone i know

at great mega local show

so local i could spit and be

home

s please

i just wish

for like, fifteen minutes

things could be like they were

and i didn't have to be so concerned

with being sexy and interesting and new

take it all

take it all

but fuck

my father told me i'm losing sight of it

and coffee is no way to make rent

and i should be big and famous already

but fuck

its hard to break into this town

every one, every thing, already

appears to be broken, still

rockumentaries

have been better than melatonin

i prefer ones about british artists

the critics voices so soothing

war head

i couldn't possibly
write a poem at my fathers bar
im waiting for him, killing time

it's like
at softball practice when
we would sit around with
a pile of warheads
and unwrap the amount we
betted we could stomach

im counting the candies
and taking a drink
for every one i put back
In the pile

it's just gotta

the acid throat tickle

will go away when

mugs stop breaking and

the fridge starts working

clover

dinosaur vs search

dinosaur vs bedtime

dinosaur vs the potty

dinosaur vs reptile

dinosaur vs dinosaur

dinosaur vs pig

dinosaur vs cat

dinosaur vs king kong

dinosaur vs dragon

dinosaur vs dinosaur games

dinosaur vs bird

getting back

i left something outside months ago

the snow swallowed it up

sedentary and never ending

the snow piles walls

between cars

and sidewalks

(you, now)

the thing lays there

forgotten and sleeping

in blank albino sand dunes

leaving endless shoe puddles

expressionless and unapologetic

i was sure that, a surer sure than usual

a bath would be taken for the first time in years

even if I have to boil every pot in the house tonight

it is warm and almost free and the thing i can’t remember

that I left in the snow will wash off me like stepping salty boots

in a fresh spring puddle and every vertebrae will think of when they

can lay exposed and beaming from a swinging sundress, and stay there