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

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.

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

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

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

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

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.