Disappointment ointment
to treat the pigs
at their disastrous
appointment
-oink, oink-
o ink o inkling
clinging and lingering

Distraction establishment
making lawful constraints
for what is and what ain't

Deconstruct to reduce:
both oath oat at t

Does the girl even
matter, or is everything
a matter of time

There was
no longer
hope for
them at
this time

Elephants are my
favorite, but I
hate giraffes

I don't trust
the horns
on their heads

Or how they
coerced evolution
into upgrading
their necks, legs AND
tongues -greedy
little *******-

Just eat from bushes
or averaged sized
trees like a normal
******* herbivore

Embouchure (n).

A certain lemon-*******
puckering of the lips pressed
against a moistened surface;

a sure fire way of producing
some string of singing sounds

Entities, raise
your thoughts
from the ground
before the flood
rises, and
they drown

Empty them
out atop the
surface tension
-buoyant enough-
to float on their
own as a final
sacrifice

Exploring
the major
and minor
keys of
poetry

A third up
and half a
step down:

So fine
the lines
widening

like childs
eyes before
fruit

ripe
before its
known that
they're

any
good for you
-as mud for
elphants-

Snacks at
noon

Feel I
feel like
feline skepticism

Feline
bee lines
belies her approach

Fields
of my
ancestors
-stalks of
cane sugar-
surrounding

It yields
yearlong:
for the sun
-garish- in
its wake
leaves thirst
quick
to slake

Flatterer (n).

Bits of silver whispered
from a well-polished tongue;

a certain flexing of fondness

Floating  
like a
speck of
snow
in the
rain
-dissolving-

Flow so hot,
I got Satan sweatin

I got ****** more strung up
than a cotton gin

Candy flippin, cross faded-
chase it down with gin

Friend that had been
kidnapped and paid
the ransom in a
*** of cash

The Big Guy called
and called but His
angel's on lunch,
not answering

Warming
amen -rarely-
to the things that
live outside of you

Warn to you,
armed I
Warm to you,
worn I

Frozen pipes filled
with clear molded
folds of flesh
-like wrapped
up flowers,
budding-

No shower
to take
-not even a
cold one-

The sink is running only
warm to hot water, so
at least there's that

Frustration function
to organize the committee
for their public tongue shun

Jettison junction
flicked up or down
in the merging lane
to turn left or right
with unction

What a snare of delusion!
What a state of confusion.

To shoot the hen before
dawn; awake to quiet
its intentions

God **** it all
if everything with
you isn't some form
of instinct or reflex

God I'm
crazy and
weak.

I wish I still
believed and
could pray -it
really did
help-

A godless
world is exactly
what you'd imagine
it to be -partially
because we
live in it-

I hate
that once
a month I'm
stuck being a
girl with girl needs
and girl whims

I hate that
it makes me
actually miss
you when you're
gone: acknowledge,
assess, process,
exactly  
how long it's
been

Maddening.

I imagine
disgusting globs
of whatever
stuff you claim
to have so much of
sloughing

off,
crawling away
half dead in the
cold coming to
the window to
tap, or perhaps
the door
to
knock like a
lonely soul and

you know
I've a psilocybin
enduced empathetic
streak embedded deep,
couldn't possibly
leave a thing to
freeze on its
own,
but
still yet
intruding
against my
will:

This is
the only
explanation:
I could not
thus feel
otherwise
by myself,
nevertheless
being mired
in such muck

I hate
being stuck
with the absence
of you for days
at a time
-especially with
these blobs
reminding of how
once
you were willing
to drive to
Tom's before
I had to cath him
at 2:30
in the morning

Just to smoke
and talk
a little
while

I doubt any of that
even matters now

God...
I must
be crazy
going crazy
acting crazy

I hate it.

I also hate
hating things.

God, this stupid thing
language! and what of it
anyway? What pleading sounds
can it make, as
no one listens
to poetry anymore...

no, though it turns
letters into cities
and cities into salt
and salt into
oceans and gold.

And from them:
what dumb sounds
do they make?
but a susurration, a murmur
that everyone knows:

one spiraled shell
on a beach like all spindly shells, same
thrumming thrush, rush
of blood in the ears echoed
from the heart —some string
of the loveliest of sounds—  
yet one
is enough.

One is enough, so
of course,
no one listens to poetry
anymore.

God willing to
play the character
and dress us up accordingly

I want puce gloves and
green boots: a contradiction

Do I contradict myself?
very well then, I contradict
myself

Gravity -and its enemies-
pulling one into the other,
not quite a planet and
its moon, but perhaps
a planet and its men
-dependent on the other-

Ha sido
una semana hasta
mi ultimo humo,
y no me siento mejor.
No estoy cansada ni
tengo hambre.

Soy perezosa
me acuesto aquí
en mi cama, con
la sabana deja de mi.
Estoy frío pero
mis almohadas
están cómodo

Have you ever
felt the jolt of a name

the same but a change
of face? Do you like how
the drug always

hugs a little tighter
when you pull in
on the tip of the spliff?

I don't like hugs, but
do you like love?

Hello lone star,
not too far

I was you once
you were me

See there,
other star

I was you once
you were me

He spoke with his nose against mine.
He closed his eyes and hesitated to kiss me gingerly
and when I did not deny him, he kissed me again.

And when I returned his affections
he gave a sigh of passionate relief,
his fingers imploring tenderly to
find the skin beneath cloth

within the sheets, and I
allowed him to. “I want you
to understand,” he said against
my lips, pulling me into him,
and so I tried to.

His lips touch
mine for the
first time, yet

they seem familiar:
like his fingers mindlessly
making mine some about to
turn page corner of a book

read again;
but I don't
mind it

How long
should a
poem live?

Is its life
expectancy
dependent
upon the reader
or itself?

Can its
parts
wear
down?

Does death
treat literature
more kindly?

How many ties are there
exactly and when does
the schism occur?

At some point, a
stance is taken and
a yell is given

“Look at it! Look at it!
I want all of you
to look at it!”

How precious death
and senseless life

when wives should
lie not for her man in
pleasure but in duty

dies giving birth
to his children

who will make more

Hypocrite tournament
put the hippos in a
tourniquet

Turnt a bit
too turned up

Two ton tummies
summo wrestling,
who will win?

Mounted champion
munching on
mountains:
A hypo-hippo-perbole

I ain't drinking
nothin but that Molly water

Blow the beat up
like its canon fodder

See these sons?
I'm they father

Bless em up nice
like my name Jehova

I am a circle:  
definite indecisions
looped in an array of
implausible logics and standard
reasonings -within their composition
quasi-quarks with peculiar quirks
like most anything-
I want to do how others do
I want to want how they do too

I am one
but I feel like
four- the stable
Form on all legs-

How is it there in tomorrow?
It is good and I am
well and the legs of
the table don't wobble

In three there
is no resolution.
A compromise exists
and connects the opposites.

But no one sits
on a three legged chair.
No one fits in a trinity
excluding humanity

My four is my
Lord and the
Three is in me

I am the ghost
-of chemicals-
in the air that
slow and
turn to rust

While the droplets
in the air rush to
turn to dust

I can't wait to be
loved fully

To be worthy of
excess and effort

I can feel
by myself

I feel clean hair
because mama always said
to wash it when you feel sick

No tear shampoo was a
******* lie and so
were we and so we'll be.
Sick from unwashed hair.

I can see myself
falling for you,

and in that voyeuristic  
pleasure, I feel it-- falling
for you--

and I must look away

like an embarrassing
scene on TV or a
train wreck,

but I can't look away

I can't forgive
it, yet still I
wonder
of the
next who
finds your skin

Will she make
your heart beat
faster than I can?
Could she give you
all you ask for?

All the nights tucked
in love filled sheets,
I hope they made
you feel good

Can she give you
all you hope for?

I closed my eyes
and let my muscles
go by memory

What sound does
wild emotion take
when transferred?

Keys blindly pressed fall
as leaves in the fingers
like fission in autumn

I cough my lungs to splendor
with the simple tchk
of my lighter

Are they standing or
on all fours? Stuck between
two columns of gapped bony thighs
expanding, extracting, contracting

And yet the air
fills and flows until full:
-even throughout the night-

I couldn't help it
if you came the same
as you did before

And your weakness
is the only thing
that keeps you talking

Yea, yea, yea
Yadda, yadda, yadda
Realize the same thing

Who's been faking
it the whole time?

I cried
when I read a small
poem by Zukofsky, and
well here it is:

Wire cage flues
          on
the roofs:

Paper ash —whole
        sheets
  in gusts—

Flawed by winds
           fly
like doves.

At first it seems nothing,
but sing them softly on the lips:
Something quintessential
something I'd not yet encountered within
my twenty years of life. Newness.
And from something writ long before me.
There were others, I know this
there are many amongst us,
yes, I remember

Once, I was not
alone. And yet
suddenly
—all at once—
I am alone.

I curved
-thighs flat
against the
mat- feet
to my head
and breathed

Felt my sliding
muscles taut
and thought
of you for two
-briefly-
eight breaths

Your hands
around my
neck

I breathed.
Unfurled myself
with an inhale,
...exhale

I dance with
body electric
blue and
sliding,

Let me
teach you:

Yoncé flexin
-*******,
*******-
hands up
hips rolling
like loaded
dice

Song over.

9-5 just
to stay alive
another month

I daydream:

which pieces of
cutlery you and I
could ever be.

A little spoon
bent at the neck
to a whim or will,

a parlor trick.

I diluted
the piles
of bile
in my organs
with half
a bottle
of water

As once
I woke, -felt
the blob of
thickness
sloshing about-
knew it'd be one of
those mornings
on my knees
before the
royal throne

I still
taste
sour acid
and
the miasma
is still
swirling

I do not
want bitterness
in my words

To debase and
defame
Refute and refuse
no one and nothing

True truth
in its essence
transformed
and reformed
-impartial-