French vanilla Converse,
  taupe-boxed flannel (too big),
and an American Spirit burning,
  real, real slow. What a hipster ****;
what a culture-eating parasite.
  He says, 'Read Proust with me.'
He says something about how
  his dad is dead but not in
a literal sense; metaphorically.
  I was never interested in that part
in the avant-garde spoken poetry Friday nights.

  I bust into the bathroom
and *****, grasping
  Bed Bath and Beyond clearance items.
The walls are the same shade
  of green as my skin.
A hand pets my thigh and I'm told
  it'll all be okay.
How those knuckles knew,
  I'll never know.

If trees could talk theyd tell stories.
Of a moon mad boy that travels between the seams.
A guitar motor.
A love punch horror.
A love **** taker,
The holy rock maker.
Crashing gates
takes the face
from bark.
Stoic as the trees
sonic as the sound
crazy loon lashing
dance around.

Heard a voice
One with the birds
birdy brain feather
emergancy of words

Killer killer
the liqour drinker

the little libra
The sinatra fevor

The apple eater
stream water drinker

the hopefull hopeless
Cautious curious

bring it back

the fat cat

the heart beat speaker
detuned reaper

an desperate dreamer of romamce roads and rigamorits

Carolina fire flies
tenneses weeping walls
arkansas arkane maw

The dandy dandalion
Photosynthesis the good times.

The photo prisim
The self made prison
The wall written upon
the wall dashed upon
friends family lovers understood
break down rebound
Some new coast bound.

Nothing but words,
And one with the birds..

No doorknobs exist on this floor.
I can't find any outlets.
The belt that lady--I didn't mean to
disappoint--bought me is coiled,
surrounded by Tupperware walls.
A nurse checked herself in. No
affect; asking for charge; reset.
I'm twenty and letting down my dad.
My belt used to live at JC Penny
and has navy-outlined bass on it.
One of the counselors is black,
from Africa, was adopted, moved
here to be raised by two JP Morgan
lifers, played collegiate soccer, married,
got pregnant, lost the boy--which he said
he had a feeling it would have been.
So, he can relate.
No doorknobs exist on this floor.
I am twenty and this exists in the past.
Wheeling in due to an inability to walk
--totally her brain's fault; a real former-
controllable, current-uncontrollable thing
that her mind pulled on her, on account
from the cold, Vaseline touch of a relative
--this redheaded girl pretends to smile
before apologizing for pretending to smile.
Our black counselor, former soccer player
and father says to not apologize and that
we are all pretending, all the time, even
when we don't think we are.
I find this strangely comforting.

I found an old homesite
in the woods,
next to a church, or at least
what looked
like the remains of one

Rocks overgrown with weeds
and vines, a doorway
leading nowhere
in either direction, and

I think
I thought
I was maybe Christ

I think there were birds taking flight
from my open hands

The laughter of children
buried like bones
beneath
the terrible blue sky.

Poets are bipolar--
musicians, OCD.
I wonder if we’d have much art
without insanity?
Coleridge smoked *****,
Poe preferred whisky.
If not for their addictions
would we have their poetry?
Blake had manic visions;
Hemingway was suicidal.
The heights and depths of their emotions
meant their minds were never idle.
Garcia tripped on acid;
Iommi did *******.
Would they have played such blissful notes
if they weren’t a bit insane?
Yes, we must treat the ill,
we want them with us still--
but if we lost all craziness
there’d  be genius that we’d miss.

let's never leave the bed, not even for a bit
you can stay here forever, you'll be amazed
by how much you can do, horizontally
nothing poetic, only tragedy is expected
here, for a very very long time
that's what we've been longing for, isn't it?
i owe you much, my friend!
just this one more thing, my friend!
could you do it for me? could you do it for us?
could you please
stay
stay in the bed.

this is not my ancient dream
i don't wanna be ok, momma
stray me in space, scatter me like stars
forget me
write me in an astronomy book
forget me
call me by a number
and it's never one, or two, or three

the only way i smell is like curry roux
it's past midnight and i want to go
home
it's never a place i can reach
not by foot, not by plane
i've run out of things to say
so i'll do it so i can speak louder

forget me
define me by homesickness
i fit in a box named silence
sometimes i think i'm a rabbit
white fur, red eyes
sometimes active, sometimes dead
either time the life isn't mine

it's easy to reach out for help
and there are open hands
hanging from the sky
powerless, full of themselves
not much space for me, never

i count them by color, they are all red

how dare you not have mint chocolate chip available on my birthday, do you know how many years i and my mother
wait
to have the mint chocolate chip ice cream of our life? answer me, baskin robbins

although i know her eating such sweet flavor is only a figment
i can't wish on my birthday candle
the only birthday candle i got
was from a sushi joint
mother, i didn't get a single present
not even now, not even tomorrow
i'm going to
the future with my boyfriend
he's called dean, also god, also gpa

all i want is to die
my boyfriend's real name is diploma
i wonder
if i'd ever want to date a boy
all i want is to die

answer me, baskin robbins
do you also want me to die? you've known me
for all my life
i don't remember
i don't remember
the joy of being born
mother, did i laugh when i escaped your womb? did i even smile?
you must've been aware of that
right
i want to go to a baskin robbins outlet where they have mint chocolate chip

my body, once again, got in the way

of all the softness i can hold in my hands
this is what i seek the most

height, broken neck
i want to hit the water and be embraced
by all the cold, the harmful liquid
damage me more so i can't look at the mirror anymore

my body. it got in the way

of all the softness that i can hold in my hands
won't you stop by and say hi sometime?

this is worthless, for me to leave
i don't cut my hair, nothing has changed

i've been longing for the moment that i'm
finally neutralized

drink me like milk, i want to flow
through your tunnels
warm, smooth, and fatty
i want to find what's on the other side

i held my breath, but it's pointless
no one cares if i'm breathing anyway
see my body once again it got in the way

come, all the softness that i can hold in my hands
come, my forlorn hosanna
come to my throat and i'll drink you like milk