Open up the kitchen cabinets
So that every silverware warms by the window
And have them all ajar
To be sidestepped
Ducked around
And everyone can see the film
Of dust around my spinning plates
And the particulates percolate in washing circles against rectangled yellow beams
Shooting heat on the concrete and tiles
And everyone can see my ***** airs
My ***** kitchen
Why am I to shut them
Let them bake
Coagulate and rot
And we can masticate
Our loved
Sep 25, 2022
Sep 25, 2022 at 3:48 PM UTC
His head grew, bulging his hat and ripping the brims. His temples expanded, more and more and the weight of his craniam increased too. Soon his huge head was too much for his neck, and it was propped up upon a stick for a time, dug into the dirt leaning from over the edge of his porch where he’d sit on his chair and wave at passerby's who almost mostly never waved back and his eyes were locked to the dirt path onward through thickets of pale green brush.
Jul 24, 2020
Jul 24, 2020 at 1:31 AM UTC
Where are we going he asked the small crowd of about twelve as they stepped slowly dodging clumps of mud in the deeply soaked dirt behind the wooden carriage. It bounced about, throwing itself with every step of the hoove, as the four muscular four legged beasts whipped their tails and trodder ahead, pulling the heavy mass of the stuffed wooden object behind them.
You’ll know soon enough
With enough time
Do not worry,
Enjoy the ride
Dandelions all about if you look closely
Too much mud in my boot
**** all
There goes the sun with every step
Boy
Asking questions
This this this
The troop marched through the greenery, and it browned upturned in its wet state, wetttened by the storms, the grass emulsified
''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
The waters cold grey groan
Winter spent clutching sand slipping through my knuckles
I gasp Firmament
In the shoots of green and yellow tufts dispersed by feathers discarded by birds
Waxed paper discarded by men
White Plastic coffee creamer cups discarded by men
Yellowing earl grey tea bags
discarded by men
Burnt crisped flattened cigarette butts
But the waters wash. Whiter water billowing. Violent diaspora* of white and blues and sweet smelling sand circulating in the circular motion of falling wash.
There is something deeply peaceful about cleaning. The action of putting order to those in which have none if they’re to lie where they lay
Eat the dinner and clean it up
Turn on the light and turn it off
Recycle the plastic, buy more
Sleep awake again
When will we feel finite
Mar 19, 2020
Mar 19, 2020 at 1:31 PM UTC
When will I come to be the beast to feast upon the nest
The one to harrow fear to those at rest
The baby bird falls from the tree
It’s spreads its wings to bounce from red branches of the canopy
My brain is festered with worms
Tombstone in the white wash
I’ve lost my leash
I’ll never catch another at haggradies
I was beaten on the beach
Sand and snot I cried and walked miles back to my mother
Reject
A mocking jay called on a leaved branch by My window where the porch light shone
How it’s voice quivered for a mate till one late evening I awaited its song and it never returned or whistled it’s disjointed tune.
and I never heard it again.
An owl ate and regurgitated over the white Chevrolet truck.
Dead rats in circular spitted tufts
Mar 19, 2020
Mar 19, 2020 at 1:15 PM UTC
I understand. He said, chained to the wall. The guard Edmond twirled the key in his finger back and forth again and again and it tickeled as it hit against the wall but the impact did nothing to slow the encircling motion of the key and Edmond laughed.
You understand what. That your trapped
And spiders dropped from his eyelid. Popping out, peeling with legs from him, and his body erupted in bugs.
You understand nothing
He gazed as the wall dripped wet
Mar 19, 2020
Mar 19, 2020 at 12:24 PM UTC
O surpassing knowledge.
Dead elephant
Tusk towards the heaven
The brain. The plan.
Savior in the sinking swamp
Who’s warm rolling probiscus clutches
as the mud clings to the infant wading and a helicopter successfully hovers
a thousand yards above as grandmothers attempt to drag kin
Are we all but to perceived and regurgitate and transcribe
Let us mallieate and mold and arise from the ground paper mache houses spat
from compressed lumber
Gargled from the imitation of beauty
And live once
More in the simple lean against the tree
Jan 27, 2020
Jan 27, 2020 at 11:29 PM UTC
I’m to **** on my brothers couch
after passing out, what sort of loser at forty years old does that? I’ll say,
I come from a good family I’ll say.
This is my last bottle I’ll say
before it’s bought,
before it’s even 11 pm,
before I come up with an excuse of the death of my cousin months ago.
I’m to crush and indent my temple
upon the grey wash of the concrete at the bus stop,
in the dead of night, where no one will be to pick me up,
I’m to convulse from the subdermal hematoma,
I’m to lay out on the stretcher with my head above my heart to allow it to pool away from the cranium.
I’m to meet someone who says they loves me and doesn’t want me all the same,
I’m going to cry against them,
I’m to just hope they eat there words,
when someone said they’d be there for me,
when someone said I was worth their time,
When someone said I could trust them,
when someone waited for me so we could walk together.
Jan 24, 2020
Jan 24, 2020 at 3:56 PM UTC
About a daily routine, when one wakes up,
a light flickers
and we know so quickly what hasnt been done yet.
The sanded sheets, feckled
Life like theatre.
what appointment is
made in our head where we all fall.
The calling crows on branches past,
the low lags
The crack in the shell of the crab,
o woe
the morsels white and shredded fall forth,
im just questioning,
and wondering what or where I need to be
in future time,
o woe
I think that right now some things just seem silly,
I feel that some things just
seem redundant
O woe
I’m to be alone for how long
This is the song of death,
the weary sagging eyes have bled
I’ve dripped from the sinew Slow dredges of cough
O woe
The bird in flight, who’s grip on on the reddened stick and bouncing brush waving hands of shining leaves like flickering lamp
I’ve had nothing but beer to drink
I’ve had nothing but smoke to sip
As it barrels from my mouth
Jan 2, 2020
Jan 2, 2020 at 12:12 AM UTC
Dec 30th
What soft light bounces between the wooden shudders, These slats in rows.
Let’s grow ugly and fat together
and let the lines of a couch or bed depress into our form of repeated placement as we wear small spectacles and squint anyway as one reads and the other sleeps despite the yellow wash over white linens and deep shadows.
These slats in Rows. Clouded white light
peering around the vestibule.
Nobody walks on their heels with their
head crook to the neck and their eyes
behind. Nobody walks backwards.
I’m not here much longer I don’t think I can take it. Living in uncertainty without an element of death or danger, only monetary insecurity, is the worst stressor which far surpasses the former of having to watch ones back, of having to look forward and plan, of tenting or warming oneself by flame.
This living is death.
I’m to smile today, and it’s not by choice but elation
but laying in the hollows of the wooden floor built up on stilts where every step echos as you slide with socks backwards for just a moment, this conclusion of thought itself in the soft paws and feet treading, where in echos of the depth of the warm pipes and soft dirt and dead lost pets and cabinets of sticky noted named bottles of soap of people long since visited and mounds of photos resounds family.
Dec 30, 2019
Dec 30, 2019 at 2:48 PM UTC
A drawing of the moon and sun is hung from above my bed and every morning I wake and realize the mistakes,
(of how your) name rung like a bell through my body
how silly
Break the
Love in Purity who’s to be discouraged from ***
I know not what’s next I need my mind out of this hex I wish she loved be back again but a million miles away from the moon and I am the sun
My Sol is lost,
And this is where I ask myself why I’m so aloof. Who am I. What is myself. How grounded am I to the affects my body will experience from the actions I take.
I’ve spent a long while meandering. Running even. I’m confused. About everything. I’ve unraveled unto where each segment of spirit and personhood is delicately dissected and laid forth for observation.
What part is in defiance
Sep 6, 2019
Sep 6, 2019 at 3:33 PM UTC