Body is sorry
Body came from Other Body
Body absorbed symbols
Body combined symbols to describe
What it might be like to be Body
Body saw pictures of its inside
And held an old brain
Body's pain is created there
In Nucleus hell center
A space to water the certifiably insane
Vortex of tubes that will rot into mush
Body released pheromones once
Body couldn't help but blush
Now Body lays in the dark
Body purrs as memory whirs
About times that Body bruised
And lost its ability to talk about Body
To represent Body
All the times that Body walked on without itself
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 12:31 AM UTC
God is a drag queen baby
so colorful
rainbows are his black and white photographs
God swallows glitter by the ton
and who the **** thinks
he's still reading your late night texts
he's moved on
the world spins on his heel's axis
God wears gold chains
and face paint
some all knowing clown
mocking the rules we sorted out
when he bothers to look down
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 10:33 PM UTC
kissing just for practice
we’d pour wine on the grass
we’d pour beer on the grass
nodding off love’s advance
imagining bridges
laughing through stitches
blonde hair in the distance
ski monster now wanderer
my friend and my friends' pets
we’re boy and dogs and women
my friends all lost their heads
when they lost their pets
and lost earrings in between
the cracks of the mattress
some lost things will
fade into blackness
the kind in my womb
the kind you found in the woods
when you lost sight of your hands
for the first time
then found the light
in the spine
of a boy with kind diamonds
between his teeth
it was all me
my retinas chose to see
the light when brightness was not what i needed
i need him to fade back into the blackness of my beer bottle please
i need him to see the importance of knees
of how his knees folded under his form
but return me to the floor once more
where carpet holds friction of first dance
and what more could religion be
than praising the light of men
yes ill return to the darkness then
seal me behind ***** and let me be
but roll me through the grass
stained with wine beer and tea
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 10:13 PM UTC
Smoke floats between
the damp sheets of linen
in my mouth.
The vacuum of my nose
***** it out.
I perch on a faded lawn chair
browned from the 2000’s sun.
It’s February and 34 degrees.
I spent all week getting lost
in my phone for hours on end.
Some people sip green,
barely dancing,
the neighbors’ presence.
I tell lies so lightly
to my new friend.
She is 21 and well read.
Someone put a hole in her head.
We think we move in circles
but it’s more like jagged lines.
Her dramatic lines pair
with my new found mind.
We speak of the fear of speaking.
We porch hop, chatter box
to couches and beds where
ghosts hang over heads.
Sunlight causes it to end.
The morning windows open
and the roof is wet.
I sip coffee and delay regret.
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 10:48 AM UTC
isn't it funny how we can now
identify rivers from the air
i see colored squares of grass
living beneath this metal machine
a vantage point that
humans sought from birds
we were always searching for flight formulas
or aiming slingshots toward the stars
maybe writing songs for the gods
sweet melodic pleas
so we could levitate-
separate
into angel dust
precipitation-
sweaty droplets of liquefied soul
drowning the mississippi
in pulls of poison
from my past lives' organs
the very air
that dares to guard the rain
contains all of the oxygen
those bodies had
smoked to stay awake
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 1:09 AM UTC
it has been so long since my head has bled flower poems about our friendship. they're always such a mess. recycled nostalgia and loose ends. the dark thoughts drip down the tube of my throat. but for now, let's share a beer and flood ourselves knee deep in poetry. what i mean is every mouth has a reference taste for memory. what i mean is green apple holds a photo of four girls in a basement. *** and coke are the boys that we played with. clementine is goodbye and ***** slushies are a bed of pine. whiskey is a winter storm with our queen jane. tequilla is a lost stitch and a baseball game. what i mean is we're a graveyards of tin cans and band lyrics about goldenrod and desire. i'm heavy with the times we reminisce about the two girls on fire.
i'm glad knowing dead girls are forever.
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 11:45 PM UTC
Sometimes I get up and walk, hoping that I will be lucky enough for some stranger in the street to grab my shoulders and shake me awake. But the city does not give me the validation that I am there. The machinery is too big. We all trek sidewalks while colors conduct buses and horseless carriages. Where else do I exist other than in a flash of eye contact with a stranger? It’s quickly forgotten in a space called later and it can take as long as a minute.
Gears in gadgets briefly remember the certain touch of their match’s square angles and the time between their touching is named “experience before comprehension”. This is the foreplay before language’s conception.
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 2:52 PM UTC
hangover guides me home again.
old news spews through
the screens all around me.
lies are subjective
and time is a flat circle.
we are somewhere near the eye of the storm.
high ground is the sure plan to suffer so
save yourself by submitting to flood.
mirrors reveal your fastest escape plan.
clouds are coming no matter how hard
you blow back, so all you can hope for is snow.
we are somewhere near the eye of the storm.
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 3:53 PM UTC
Crack the window
Find me in the left lung of the house's chest
I close my eyes
and let the sound of white wind trace
the shells of my ears with it's smallest finger
Ghosts sleep in the morning
Electricity finds its rhythm in my veins and
I start up again
Angels wake with bed head in their best denim
I pierce the bed skin to find feathers
wear metal
wear silk
wear flesh
I paint time lines in a circle
post them on the ceiling
and sleep with one eye open
I dream of feeling-
shut inside
believing perverse or the reverse
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 4:17 PM UTC
my view is navy
i drive toward your house
with sparkler finger-tips
not yet lit
our time is humid
we hush the fire
and rock to sleep, guitar wires,
manipulating sound waves
we whisper secret sounds in the wake
of airplane lights moving
across cheap glitter
in the night sky
we bloom into our minds
and heaven is the place
where clouds diffuse
to reveal the moon
i scratch my throat on sugar cubes
you burn your hands on
stove tops and cigar butts
we blister fuse together
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 3:57 PM UTC