i can tell that you wish i was softer,
i want to make myself more docile. i want to
pry my fingernails off for you, offer them to you as a libation,
let the auditory hallucinations do their job.
although small you’re a god nonetheless,
speaking in tongues i will never understand,
drinking flat soda because the smoke has clawed holes in your trachea and the fizz burns just a bit too much for your vessel to handle.
you take care of this body like you take care of mine,
alive;
floating, and
     in all the dimensions,
counting quarters in the back of the car.
     you are my god, and i am your fowl.
i swallow pennies, let the copper taste
     fill me up and choke me and
crawl up my spine.
     mold me like clay.

there was a radio somewhere in the basement and we knew this because it would click on long enough for us to cover our feet and question our savior’s second go at amnesia. if I wasn’t there, I was probably trying out my father’s fastball with a grip he called the ribs of my neighbor’s dog. not long from this I was holding a baby and said what a vague hiatus. also in this order I may have said you look like a ghost and then not my finger but a finger does snap into place when I smoke.

it is beyond me how a neighbor’s dog breaks all four of its legs. once, in looking at the smallness of my life, I dismantled my son’s dollhouse and told my daughters of the storm that didn’t wake them. I still learn in the church of the death I was taught by. I have my health and the healed their amnesia. do you see this ******* dog? and now for my previous trick.

suicide took the person she was named during.

I am old, here. a klutz abstaining from revelation.

bald as any
lover
of maps.

this is a sun
and also simultaneously a black hole
and all we ever do is pretend to make metaphors out of astronomy
When really the only person who was really original when he talked about the stars was some scientists thousands of years ago
i am jealous of him because he could probably grow a beard
and was a male
and had original ideas
and did i mention the ****** hair
The last time I remembered what the sun was like was last Sunday
and you were eating an ice cream
and wearing those shoes that remind me of fish
Everyone I know is scared of fish.
I feel sorry for the poor fish.
Your eyes can swim better than any fish ever will.
your skin is full of volcanoes and lava
and it burns me like nothing else will ever burn.
but your eyes are fish, who live in the ocean.
they know the blue
and that's why i always forgive you.
Because your skin may burn
and your fingers may act like falling trees
and your voice may constantly be crying to the night
But your eyes are the silver fish who guide me to the seafloor.
And in the ocean, your voice is silent and your fingers are still.

I've got wines in my ***** and if you have the coins, I may let the pavement leave scars on my joints.

What if I told you I cannot breathe
For I know one day I will not
would you understand me?

Let me explain...

I get out of bed and sigh
I make my bed and laugh
I return to bed on time
I get out of bed and sigh
I make my bed and laugh
I return to bed on time
I get out of bed and sigh
I make my bed and laugh
I return to bed on time

For I know one day I will not

let me tell you what i love about you
love to think of all the possibilities
my knife could so brazenly roam across
the surface of skin so glossy my own
gets tingles just thinking about it

let me tell you what i love about you
we love to make fun of the oceans, and how
boring life is without our own viciousness
our very blood is hedonistic, is it not?
swim away, edge closer to me while i edge closer to you

white girls stuck in perpetual road trips
to nowhere in particular
but they look cute though, always in a red jeep
with red cheeks and red lips

there is ice cream in your hair again, it's strawberry like last summer and pink like broken plastic
there was a pretty boy on 38th street, he made me laugh because i used to think i could only love a six-petaled rose or a green garbage truck. but there he was & i think i might grow old
you hate when i complain, don't you, but that's okay because she'll always kind of make me want to die, or move to venice. either way i wouldn't get to see you again & i guess that's supposed to be sad.

hey isaac, it's good to have you back. i think we both changed a lot, you're a little dizzier now and im a lot less purple. i still can't give you my address because they repainted the old house. isaac, it's such an ugly shade of (beige?) now- it makes me want to forget the last four years. they cut down the juniper trees, too, i saw the dead flowers and i didn't cry
i don't think ill ever grow out of the shower or the floorboards. ill sit here forever, waiting for cement blocks & burning hair & suffocation

i wan t to die, it's slippery and hot, it's like... tears on frozen skin, you know, like hair and lime, the confetti kind of ugly
i think i might fall into a truck someday, i think i might be pimpled with fear hours before i die. im scared all the time, it's paralyzing and uncontrollable and i can't remember it now

i already know what i want written on my grave. i already know what im going to eat for dinner tomorrow. i already know how goldfish taste and i know what it's like to thaw a secondhand phone.

how are you going to tell me to die already! i don't know what qatar looks like, i don't know the smell of grapes or the color of grass. i have waterfalls to drown in and i have people to fall in love with, you don't know the half of it, i can't die i can't die yet