We got some dead queers here
they're messing up the floor
Too many *****, too many
******* ******* don't get
me started on the trans*
We need to move our cars
and stroll the walk with
ignorant future tagalongs
More than need to care
To say, ******* speak up
We got some dead queers here,
No ******* problem

Painlessly, you squeeze my drying heart
To expunge words you put in me
I'm almost dry
This time
When I'm
A ******* desert I'll
Soak, **** syllables inside
If once more I pin your fragile arm to wall
This time
We'll know manipulation
is in my nature

When you get pretty **** high (PDH),
just remember to keep the stove top
dial at 8, just below 8, to keep the oil
of your choice from overheating and
popping into your face. Turn on the
overhead fan and open the nearest
window to ensure ventilation for your
fire detector. Don't be a cigarette and
don't ignite bushes if you can help it.
Remember this when you get PDH:
You're more than a face but you'll get
lost in that possibility for hours if you
forget that your face is such an integral
part of your translation of you to world.
So be with the world. Don't get lost on
your way to and from. Women grab
your ******. Men grab your *****. We're
having a fun time, such a fun time,
yet not really feeling fun. Remember,
meet under streetlight right outside
your room, 12:01. You want the world?
It's apparent. Smoke another bowl why
don't you, it's all over your clothes. You
want the world, don't you? Why don't
you meet me one past midnight, local?
Sell your soul to a red devil for endless
wealth? No. The the the most importa
nt pp aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaart
to remem member is that Lucifer loves
you. He is a gentleman, be not afraid.
For you he trades the wealth for free.

My mouth tastes like fireworks
Grown with love
Enjoyed with care
Blitz blaze ignite a truth
Obviously there
Watch smoke go drifting
You, too, reach to the sky
Weightless
Wordless
No less a person than the news
Under the influence
Under all things
Matchsticks, boxes, food makes
Mountains in our kitchen
Rot smell, cancerous, foul
Presence in our home
Under the mountain
Insect in flesh
I'm nothing more,
Am I, than under the influence?
It's true. Which celebrities locally
Represent you? Senate, what? Political duress.
Kaitlin Olson, say something poignant
Or in dark we die, speak well, or we'll be Jersey soon
Save me with your confirmed link to God,
Please.

You've expressed you feel a ****** disconnect.
Feel yourself some kind of alien pilot.
What's love in this, this human shell?
What's self-respect, esteem as well?
You're ******* weird and that's okay with me.
You told me for the first time, I'm queer.
That's cool. If I'm your ******, you're my ace pilot.
You're ace as **** default, I'm gray ace at best.
Why do we sit this dusty rock ridge between worlds?
If you're one, I've seen this alien's appeal.
The most delicious sight of your skin shown will have to go on ignored. And that's fine. That's fine.
I'm your little ******.
You're my ace pilot.
And that's fine.

What if I just sat myself in the chair with open ears to silence?
In quiet, would the voices play over and over, even then?
What if I unplugged myself for a moment, no longer?
Would it be time enough to see the vitriol I become?
In quiet, would my love be renewed?

In quiet, would I realize the pain created by hating the hater?
More than disparate views, I hate anger. I hate violence.
The master's walls resist the master's tools, I read it.
Even she, she would despise my guise. "Oh, really?"
She'd maybe say, "Get lost. Be gone." I feel it.

What do I do when I'm part of the crew hated?
Do I spend my days hiding or out fighting?
What do I do when I'm part of the crew hated?
What if I want to change minds and hearts slowly?
What if sudden, forceful changes break us?
I think you know the answer -- we're primed to explode

And I don't
Believe a racist, transphobe will ever love me, or learn me.
And I don't
Believe a word, a turn of phrase, deserves a bullet in the brain.
And I don't
Believe for a second that I'm anything but truly naive.

And I don't
Believe that's bad.

Sipping on OJ after ***, after ******* on a cigarette
   Night outside grows frozen as Autumn slips into Winter
She the Fire sleeps deeply, deep inside of me
   She's determined to hang moss bangs over Her face
      Block Her view from death's stony stare
         She's determined to sleep forever

What if I cut, what if I dig the skin to wake Her?
                   What if I starve the stomach?
Heave the breast toward the hand upon the chest with razor?

We all need Fire in the coldest days
Don't tell me   I'm in control
As you speak them, I speak too
We all say
   We all say
Don't tell me   I'm in control
We all break
   We all break
We've all broken ourselves

She's determined to sleep forever
   I'll
      wake
         Her

For once I think I'll speak clearly. My hands are a megaphone.
I feel like my legs are buried in paper up to the iliopsoas.

                                                                           do you feel it?

I am improper syntax incarnate. My hands are up to my mouth.
I feel like I call to you and you won't visibly position yourself.

do you feel it?

What a tragic life to be terribly lonely so overtly by my own design.
Words I should easily speak disguise in the esoteric words I write.

                              i feel you.
               i do

in fact like an acid trip dusted over days i hang onto every letter

and in the subtle twisting of the pen your vibrations enter my eyes
and in the drumming of your zealous fingers against the keyboard
and in the tapping at the glass as you ignore your text messages

your affecting verse travels my arterials and fills my chest with life

     are we alike?

I can't help but ask it. I sit puffing cherry pie,
feeling quite abandoned. You know the story.

Do you feel absolutely sundered by your insides?
Can't stop the gnawing unless you actualize your leaden brain.

     well adjusted to deep addiction to discord.

and i join your audience in admiration of the grace absent in myself

Too worn in heart
for how dare you
To in response anger
at anger aimed
towards you
How can we express ourselves,
when you steal our emotion?
Tired and missing
my connection
Too tired to love myself
and though I speak
it plainly
the lake of muck within you
was once crystalline ocean

On a night like this

My heart swells enormous
Much to give, so little
Left of it

On a night like this

Foggy with dead wishes
Wished, gone unfulfilled
Sent kisses

In midair hang heavy,
Corporeal,

On a night like this

Park bench misery, my
Mystery love, would you
Meet me in the dark time?

May your cold hand find mine
Hold tight, brace for impact
In the ensuing wave of chaos

Pardon me, I've been thinking
My friend,
what if I could save myself?
Your intoxicating
scent on my neck
has seemed to have kept me
anticipating
my gasping last breath
but, pardon me, I've been thinking
what if I could reach in
through steam in
the mirror
and remove your ******* tongue
so you can't taste me anymore?
If these dreams I keep
really are so sweet, you'll
forgive me for
keeping
the sanctum away from nightmare

Tell me once. Tell me again, I wasn't listening.
Move your mouth. Speak again,
I wasn't watching or listening.
Typically when tongues lash, mine is still.
Typically on a night out, it's better to stare.
Whispered our shouted,
who cares? Who cares?

Too surprised to find
aglow,
pictures of you fallen
long faded and broke
I believe the fractured memories
hide better tastes underneath
abuse, and neglect
Forget
for one moment,
the two lives split open,
the two eating entrails,
stitched eyes, pretending
they were not human beings
Now my tongue pretends that
the juices have turned bitter,
when I long for love
I'd drink you all day,
suppressing hate that
imperfect ink fade
has left a burning stain.

Taking medication may be fastening together the seams that could split. Between SSRI, HRT, and caffeine the moments speed, fleeting before I secure my grip. What's the point of living as a zombie losing opportunity through barely there fingers? I can be **** for you, I'm fond of pleading on my knees, tongue over my teeth, waiting patiently for my mouthful -- but what's point? What would it solve to introduce a controlled study meltdown? Well, I see the seasons coming at first light. Spring and Fall pull balance apart. So pull apart, because these meds don't help when my mind conspires without me, but with the world. Leave me alone. I'm caught gazing at the canvas in the white on walls. If it appears I'm choking, I am. I choke myself to gasping near to death as a means to depart from my leaden regret. Do I grow wings? No. Do I ascend? No. Do I myself then deify? No. It takes endlessly repeated little deaths to prevent permanent disintegration in passion's cruel flame.

We've our grievances
right
here in hand

Blood soaked envelopes
stamped
sweat and seal

They use empty truths
to pitch hate
as a promised land

They sell their answers
used, as is
to the fearing masses

And they do so
dirt cheap
dirt cheap

From a throne
of our skulls
and ancient
bones

.our ******* bones.

I stopped caring.
A view of the world outside
escapes my morning eyes.
I eclipse you.
A view of the world outside
reveals wire frame in black.

The sky is wide. I'm just beneath heaven.
Have you ever felt as close to god there?
On the Earth turned cement dry?
In the dregs where lines divide?

I stopped caring.
A view of the world outside
escapes my morning eyes.
I eclipse you.

I regret that I see lines, instead.
One triangle on its head, risen
above the sun, above the moon.
The sight of you, deprived,
drives me back inside.

----------------------------------------------

Felt mostly alone.
Never deprived.
Unhappy with life,
still overjoyed.
My mama stole my name.
My sister got her's took.
Pass the line from child
hood into adulthood,
looking like,
I know, I'm sure I know
I can't owe you money, yet,
I've never lived
on my own.

That's still true, too.
Don't know the sound of silence,
so when it's been most quiet
staying with roommates,
I take my chance at pretend.
I wake up dying, laughing
and crying at ghostly degrees
floating with motes of dust
on the sunbeams
crossing my mattress
in the living room.

Felt mostly alone.
Uneducated.
Contented by kicking cans, though.
Contented in stinky briefs,
and the shirt that's food
for my closet moths,
looking for cheap ways
to express the illness,
the anger I hide.

I believe, that some use our backs
for stacking currency. For work.
Invisible work, deep under the radar,
pack mule to their nickel,
fifty-*******-cent pieces
and dimes.

I'm staring at pennies
they leave me to roll,
already rolling, like
they expect me to catch up.
The secret is:
they want it
so badly --

So game over. I ain't playing
no more, when the piece I play
climbs the backs of friends,
my brethren of the low-low,
one space at a time, with dice
cooked, favor to snake eyes

I'm not chasing pennies
if I'm so close to the floor
I'll always be carpet,
I'll part the lint and braid
to love what is free.

I'll always be base
to love what is free.