break down your snow
flake ******* obsidian,
what did you lace my ****
with that forced me to join
the yakuza in service of
the rising sun?
what kind of anthropocentric
jehovas witness temple
taught you to count?
to envision the navel of
gravity? you say there is no
tectonic plate beneath us,
and yet we stand on the
trench of your lies.
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 6:01 PM UTC
today i caught myself not
thinking about you for longer than
one heart beat. i was fooled.
had been completely engrossed
in a conversation with a judge
inside my mind, you're standing
across from me and our apocalypse
is here! she asks
me what i mean, she
hates my people but loves
my pedigree. if she asked you
what you thought of me would
you do right by jesus christ?
what rogue elixir could ever tie
the tubes before your embryonic
lies come spewing out onto this
relentless carboniferous slice of
spinning lava?
parasites
just like your guns,
you reckless bandit.
just like your sons,
a leech on the planet.
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 3:27 PM UTC
what sick mutiny caused
eyes to dictate righteousness?
if you have a brown iris you
are not invited into valhalla
until you have paid your dues
to the karmic protein memorabilia.
i never checked how long this
pie will take to thermoregulate.
strands for animals and strands
for fungi and braids for plants
and still not one article on
archaea. push your hands together,
listen to the hair grow from
your knuckles. push your minds together
and listen to the neurons coiling
around each other, preparing to
reshape the face of the earth.
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 3:22 PM UTC
across mountains of infamy
pompey oozed his way down
the port like chèvre, the
screeching miles behind him.
he wanted to be alexander
the great, just like all men in
his position. in 1999 everything
was blue, and before that grey,
and somewhere in between a few
communists painted themselves green
and now we have vesuvius.
now we have the arctic ice
sheets falling into the ocean,
now we have machines that
turn root vegetables to liquid.
alchemy was never one of
pompey's strong suits, and for
this caesar mocked him
outside every bodega in lower
manhattan. a fine servant of
pythagoras was he, and his
feminine ability of transmutation
unparalleled among his contemporaries.
build tributaries for gravity.
don't let this world, with its
smug disapproval of tesla & *****
demand a full fledged eclipse
of your hair, the arterial extension
of your crown chakra. many
avian predators will create
ripples in your hyperspace
continuum, remember the myth
of gravity at times like this.
vladimir lenin was able to
come to terms with his reptilian
heritage, right there in st. petersberg,
right there in burma, right there
in pontus, right there in zaire.
why would a maple leaf constricting
a tail light bring forth a civil war
in archaic rome or egypt? as pompey
felt the velcro snap from his
spine when the swords went in, he
cried the same words that caesar
would a few years later. he said
"i gave your father my finest figs &
cheeses & you betray a guest at your
own psytrance party?" the nile
flooded low that season, but across the
sea in sicily the lasagna piled high.
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 3:12 PM UTC
a horde of kale &western;
europeans longing to be gypsies, not
knowing their grand daddies
shoed us from the train station
at central square for the shape of our
noses. i like to imagine all these
blonde northface gypsy women
look in the mirror at the age of 8
&beg; God for plastic surgery, beg
Him to look normal, to
feel safe in the sugar cult
ure asphyxiation through her child's lips with so much hair on top
she's mortified she wants to make a
pact with God! but her grandfather
was enforcing national socialist curfew
on stolen earth in the winter of '43 &mine;
was in an execution line. if the german
troops tagged behind her beautiful blue
eyed smile &asked; which village she
hails from would she hashtag gypsy?
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 5:12 AM UTC
off to nowhere leads the brush
and cold against the sky
a freight train runs a midnight rush
and here are night, and i.
i thought in times before, i saw
footsteps behind my trail
but now it seems the minotaur
hung blackness on my sail.
the fates, they saw my cord and sighed
they loved me through one eye
but in their hollowed skulls they knew
the haste of my demise.
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 1:21 AM UTC
show yourself
don't hide brown eyes between skirts,
hiking down your lace so nobody can see knee
caps. your arms are not a source of shame,
we don't all subscribe to patriarchy here.
reveal your intentions!
you can't bring something upon yourself
unless you were playing with flames in
the first place, nevermind be self aware of
the self sabotage of springing- the whisper
between the lines that you're still sprung.
and this is all hebrew to me but
if you're on the hunt for something i've claimed,
and he has no issue with being your prey,
then who should cook &eat; the game?
show yourself!
if you are smiling here, but hiding there,
how can i trust your prowl is pure?
after sniffing my **** &flirting; gently with the tree
aren't you going to ask yourself what
you want? did you smell yourself from long
ago? would you have asked a groom to buy you
a drink on your holy day, would you have asked
the groom if you could come stay with him one
night before his wedding, did you forget about sun
set &moonrise;? your makeup bag has your name
engraved in it so why is it so full of poison?
reveal yourself!
you know **** well i am delilah &i; will clear
cut this forest if you do not pick a tree.
i should show you compassion, but aren't you gonna
ask me what i want?
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 10:27 PM UTC
it's only that i want to
permeate particles like marie
curie did. lay your lungs out
on a slab and i will show you
intricacies in fissures. i don't know if i
want you inside me but i definitely
want you inside-out. the aches come
on worst in the morning and at
night, hold me in those moments like marie
curie would. demonstrate an interest
in the unseen and i will bring you
spectrometry. demonstrate an interest.
voices happen all day and i am
fixated. that friendly fire barely
shows herself at all anymore, only
in your absence, like an ill-conditioned
cat. i don't know if you noticed but
my boots are booking miles. my daemons
feed on a seed in my back, so do not
wag that tail. do not turn those beads
of fleshy water, there are magnets that
your cornea can't block. i'm past my
half life and you've passed your lethal dose,
so don't let me decay into an isotope
with half my strength. i'm leaving
traces on the walls you can scrape off
like brown ice. don't let me decay into
a softer neon. hold me tight like marie
curie died.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 1:17 PM UTC
she doesn't seem to have
time for a sceptic like you, the
stomach for a shot like you,
respect for anyone who dresses
acts or howls like you do at the
darkness. for her the darkness is a
hiding place, not everyone can see
down here. for her, intelligence and in
tegrity are hushed while clutching a north
face who said it was ok to do so.
but jesus said forgive her.
and we're in boston so let's face
it, everyone loves a redhead. no
body notices the shards of rotting oak
creating a biohazard near her temples,
as long as the hair stays irish and that north
face matches the free candy they're
handing out uptown.
but jesus didn't wash his hands
before he ate candy. he didn't wash them
after he caressed the lepers, he held his
***** palms up to the pharisees and said
"this is what i've touched," then they told him
he better put on a north face, and secretly they
tried to read the future in his lifeline.
first grade playground, greece: rena is getting
chased again, because on this planet fat
shaming works fine if you're trying to make some
one cry. and i hopped that fence so fast, what
would jesus do? and i got her to the other side,
and i told my classmates to go away, but her skirt was
caught in the wire and they got her to cry anyway.
plus we must be lesbian lovers (why else
would i help her?) plus i'm gonna catch her fat
ness (how else could this virus be transferred?)
and jesus was a carpenter. and jesus was a jew.
and jesus ****** mary in the books that never
made it, the ones they still keep hidden at the north
face headquarters basement. and jesus saw rena
and she was so slow, but gentle. and he said "it is not
what she puts into her mouth that defileth her." and
jesus saw us eat together, with mud under our nails. and
jesus saw iscah's red tree filigree spiraling from her blank
brainwashed eyes, and he saw the north
face covering her true form, and he warned the
pharisees that her clean hands do not sanctify her,
the poison which escapes her mouth DOES defileth her
because it was born of a cardiac poison, the coat she wears
is the mark of the elders; and we shall wear what we want.
the pharisees, of course, urged him to buy a north face.
but jesus gave me these ***** palms instead, he flung them filthy
in front of the elders' faces as he commanded me to love them
as i would love myself. and i'm afraid to
but i'll try.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
it's cold in the gut, like
that first time you had to throw
a sea robin back, even after
the hook had reached through his
left eye. cold like the flapping
of blackfish in a bush asphyxiating,
as i have all day. if dying as a
fish were so easy, oh how i'd love
to jump from the caves of anchorage
into the pacific; how ironic, an iron
islander on your brittle coast.
sometimes the way you hold your spliff makes
milk come out the bottom and i love to
watch it dance around your bottom lip.
i can't bring myself to scan the past, the
beads falling to my cheek refuse to
move, even in my highest doses.
sleeping without you,
it's free and slow but it's also 6am.
and what do i really want? with freedom?
with comfort? forgiveness wraps her white
chiffon around my breast, heart vibrating, but
the horns on my temples take it away.
those old relics, the constant frontal pyramids,
they rip everything open without my permission
and yet they hold the fire through which i thrive.
if you were here you would say, do not
take the seroquel. i listen even in your void.
sleeping without you,
it's a crater in my back, right now i
don't want you back but —imagine!
i wail right away when i see your
frown in my third eye, where would my
anchor be and how would you find sails?
and your hair, would it darken from
missing my fingertips? and my waist,
would it harden if you did not open its
harbors? and what about our hands?
the magnets in the lines of our palms,
they will probably tie cords to each
other until a loss of frequency.
most importantly, what would the
stars think? would they form the same angles
or would the earth be forced to move backwards?
sleeping without you,
i'm so enraged, but please don't
make me do it. you are not an ocean,
you're a fjord. glacial ice irises, a
buffer for the north sea's calamities, a
singular and diverse habitat. if i could no
longer rest my head on those whisper
waves, i'd stare at my palms all day,
i'd wait until they found your lifeline.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 5:57 AM UTC