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 Jun 7 Pea
its a long waste of time
here’s the fire
here’s the two hour film
here’s the empty tract you spill your money in
yesterday returns
the same stupid wake and a body like mindless *******
enjoy your repetition
or live in misery
why enjoy when you can die
nobody answers
nobody says a ******* thing but
enjoy your repetition
enjoy your repetition
like an idiot caucus in automation

a mass shooting happened four hours from town
on the night of the wake
a vaporwave gig opened to an audience of fashion designers and other rich art *****
down the road
club music blared a bloated corpse to drunk faces
and in the centre
wilted flowers for the victims.
timeless return is the terror of the letter
a year of sleep in unbearable trauma
the other’s dying light.
 Jun 7 Pea
and where do you live?
body of water and smoke
to ride the empty street
cardboard and tongue and plastic and puke
distant dying light.

it’s like
there’s nobody here
a veritable ghost town
where pavement walks itself
and measured stares meet glances
in amorous disgust.

here’s the coffee
here’s the break
here’s the *******
here’s the waterfront
hurried pace through the centre of
the empty body of god.

why don’t they all just die?
most of the time
nothing makes sense.

seagulls make a point of avoiding eye contact
they pretend like they’re not pretending to not see you.

absence shapes presence.
 Feb 15 Pea
life seemed safe
stab yourself
the harbour would be a nice place to die
if these ******* couples would just leave
leave me the **** alone
my resentment is my resentment is split the city in two and ride your body through hell
some people carry bukowski never read and spill their emptiness into the world
what do you do?
sleep and sleep until everything is worse
everyone is moving moving moving
there is the new bloom
tiqqun staged anew
 Feb 15 Pea
pure sunshine
 Feb 15 Pea
lull myself to sleep
by memories of your skin
soft under my lips

slipping deeper down
into warmth- this summer that
will never return

February 2, 2019

haiku poem
 Feb 15 Pea
the path to love is elsewhere
surface folds create the illusion of depth
in a fully mutable system

this is you
roving and roiling
on your open palm

an offer of lack
in lieu of fulfilment
 Jan 18 Pea
i’m just not sure what you expected
wasting through the flesh of your palm
as if some invariant nightmare was worth chasing
right through your ******* palm

******* distraction
don’t pretend you’re worth anything
you know, i'm starting to think buddhism was right.
and that my psychoanalysis friend was right.
there is no intersubjectivity, no reciprocity.
whatever two desires you thought came together, was nothing but a misapprehension of the situation. you read your own desire in the other, and they read their own desire in you, and you both spent your worthless time together, thinking you were a match, slowly burrowing your expectations into one another's flesh, like stupid idiot worms trying to find a home, but instead making holes.
and then when your expectations fail you, you blame the other, when really you should blame yourself for ever expecting anything.
 Jan 8 Pea
i don’t know what i want but i don’t want this
naked and strewn on your porsche
teens make do with driving off cliffs
and i think they’re better for it

it takes character to lose your mind
well i’ve been trying so ******* hard
because weakness is better than strength
if this is your perfect function

and i don’t want to be like you
and i don’t want to be like you
all blanket and empty beneath
like a smile you learn to identify with

give me my ******* pay check
i’ll crash beneath your house
and burn like wildfire
 Jan 8 Pea
 Jan 8 Pea
I read somewhere that names
Fix things in place like pins
And that to be nameless is to be

There are some things in this world which can’t be spoken
Can’t be captured
Can’t be named.
As artists,
As human beings,
They call us
An unstoppable force
An indefinable drive
That deep tug in the center of your chest
The gnawing need to create.
They are things we chase
Things we aspire to
Things we even worship sometimes
Writing long into the night
Carving wood and clay and bone
On our knees in the dark
Smearing paint, desperate to understand
Desperate to make something
Half as beautiful as what we
Since we awoke as a race
We have created
In service of only that drive
Only that obsession
Half awe and half hubris
Half joy and half shame
Half triumph and half
The expression of something
The naming of something
Too sacred for language.
We know we can never arrive
We can only
And the search is the reason
For our cities and our novels and our symphonies
An aching search
A humble search
A sweet journey whose end-
No matter how much we pretend otherwise-
Is only

You are like that.

I’ve tried for hundreds of pages
To explain myself
To express my love and longing but
Are like a thousand of those unnameable things.
I think you might be
Made of them
I think they live in your skin and your bones and the timbre of your voice.
I can write all day
About the magnetic beauty I see in you
About the way you make me feel
And list the things I love about you
But it always feels
Always as if I am writing around something
Something with no words to describe it-
None that even
Come close.
As if I can only write about what you do
Not what you are
Because what you are is too vast
For thought.
I write as though I have pressed my hands to glass
Trying to sing to you through it
But you are on
The other side-
Even the most beautiful art
Even the sweetest music
Even the most tender poetry
Could not pierce deeply enough
Would be a disservice and a reduction
Would fall hopelessly short
Of what you really are
And how you really move me.

I try to tell you why I love you
I try to tell you
I know you wonder sometimes
I know you wonder if I only love
Things about you
Things I could find in others.
I try to explain but it’s like
My thoughts catch in my throat
And fall like shadows on the floor-
So hopelessly inadequate.

I search and search
I sit up nights
Trying to find the words
Trying to make the words
But there are none
Not because you are ordinary but because you are
What I love in you is deeper than reason
Deeper than touch
Deeper than ideas or memories or the little moments when I stop and gaze at you
I love you in a way that reminds me
That we are not just flesh and blood
Because if we were there would be a word for what in me
Falls to its knees at your feet
And what in you
Makes me want to build things with my hands
And never stop

And that is
All I can say
Because although I think by now I may have truly tried
Them all,

There’s not.
“To love another person is to see the face of god.” -Victor Hugo
 Jan 8 Pea
are you the pieces put finely together,
or are you a togetherness, pulling apart?

and what lies in the in-between,
the borderlines, the crevices?

those things that bled
from your mind into hidden places

what did you lose in the battle of wits,
what did the darkness hide?
wrote this a while ago and it's just been collecting dust
 Jan 8 Pea
King Panda
you dream
one-thousand pounds
heavier than me—
a weaved, night sky
complete with brass buttons
and the bobby pin you forgot to take out

tessellation of Sunday letter
haunts me with your

lace and peach
as my fingers conduct

the bundle of flowers
to smoke
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