books give me art
kisses give me art
art thou not daddling and dabbling and doobling
in and around with
all these weird juices in my brain?
squeezing out the extras
like the last of the soup?
i see little wood animals jumping in the puddles
and leaving colored feetsprints all over the walls

but all i can hear is you

big round ***
to fit a hand
or maybe to eat
              breakfast off of
mom would be
so ashamed to see I
ended a sentence
with a preposition

i didn't write since you were here
i wanted to eat a million maggots
and pull my hair out of my scalp
my cup is full and overflows with hate
not a flower in my hair
or a writing on my wall
gave my brain a rest
like an injured moth
i lay here on the floor
and i don't want saved
especially
not by you

the four-day-old stubble really gets to me
especially
when its rubbing against my neck as i fall asleep
i want to melt in it
like butter
turn into buttery soup
buttery alphabet soup
and spell out what i can't spit out

feeling good and feeling feelings and kissing boys and daytime dreaming

i am the at the bottom of the bucket
waiting for you to make your way to me
and pick
me
up

boys seem to be much riper
and ready to eat
after i've buttered them up a little bit
maybe with a cheap beer
a little nudge on the stomach
a lesson on spell-checking

"take off yours first" he yells

(my bottoms are off before he finishes)

i guess i like the boys the will play games with me
and laugh when i tell a joke or don't tell a joke
and don't mind when i shake my *** all up in the air

he will ask me to see who can get undressed the quickest

and i wade in a lake
already naked

i like that deep truth of a person
when they're silently counting on their fingers the boys they've kissed
or when they look at an ant for a while
and follow it across the table

when anyone really really smiles
i am so happy
and they are so beautiful