I envy the artist
who can draw himself
from nothing more than his reflection
Words don't so easily curve
like lips
to capture the image I see
when I reflect

i want to tell you how much I love you, but i choke on my affections every time

in the summer:
she poured peach wine down my body.
she folded her paisley hands into my hair.
I made art for the dead prostitutes and the dead carpenter,
and I made art for her.


in the nightclub:
when the floor was red with liquor and gunshot, did they know?


in my heart:
I’m scared that I’ll betray you when the rifles bring us down;
I'm only hoping my switchblade can protect us now.


a mass shooting in a holy place
in the summer
I heard bodies dancing and laughing
I heard bodies bleeding and dying
I heard bodies
I heard bodies
in the summer


when I taste like judas, will you tell me?
when we exit the tobacco smoke, will you tell me?
I’ll betray you,
I’ll betray you, and I don't want to,
because if I could only breathe in your daisy chain hair,
if I could only breath in your summer eyes,
if I could only breath in you,
I’d be singing of my revival from the hanging corpse life I have been living,
and my aunt lisa’s gonna weep when I tell her about you.

Nobody told you that growing up would do you no good

and nobody told me.

All that fumbling
the rising
the crumpling
I'd like a second opinion.

a runway model
in a cornfield

/ the stone a short film on snowfall