In flashes,
her face dances
on top of a
broomstick body.

She refills
coffee cups and
her stomach with
butter pecan ice cream
and lovers' saliva.

But her lovers are
strangers
and her mouth is a
place
where secrets are locked
behind smoke stained teeth.

In flashes,
her ambitions escape
into the jet black night.
Cigarettes dropping like
sputtering fruit flies.

A size seven New Balance
buries a Marlboro corpse,
burning out like the light
in her kiwi eyes.

She returns to the diner.
What echoes reign free.

I am in such a **** mood,
the mountains have no meaning.
Big ******* rocks.

*******, dad.
*******, Fox News.
*******, Indiana.

None of you *******
know what irony is.
Google that ****.
Jesus Christ.

There are yellow streams--
that's poetic ****.
There are ruby stained sheets--
that's blood, obviously,
and, I dunno,
maybe somebody died on a bed?

Everyone can **** my ****.

To be or not to be,
that is the
shut the **** up.

Rapists are disgusting people.
They aren't people.

******* idiots.
Romanticizing everything
you wish you had
because
suicide, mental illness,
and eating disorders
make you cool,
riiiigghhhttt?
*******.
If you do this,
you aren't interesting.
You're just you.
Get used to it.
There are people
that go through
these issues
and they don't think
it's ******* rad,
*******.

I hate 75% of the south.
The south will rise again?
Get the **** out of here.

Stalin was a ****.

Most writers are *****.
Most of them ****.
I don't care.

For the love of "God",
if I read one more poem
about what poetry is
or how to define a poet,
I'll slam my head against
a ******* knife.

Some people are so dumb.
Most ******* people.
******* pseudo-knowledge.
Armchair philosophers.
If you guys wanted
to **** yourself,
you could jump
from your ego
to your IQ.

Something, something, imagery.
Metaphor.

I remember
when growing up
was desired.
We swung our lungs
upwards,
towards the sky,
so we could steal
the air of the
universe's river.

I'd call you on
my parents' red landline.
You'd call me on
a broken cordless phone.
Your father would yell
and I could hear your mother
knock over things
as she was either
running, hiding, or
fighting back.

You don't exist.
You're a figment of my
imagination.
You're a poem,
but I want you to be
a memory that is real
to substitute the ones
I wish were fake.

You don't exist.
Your name is not
Kimberly or June.
Your ears aren't pierced.
We never played games
or shared deep thoughts.
We never talked about
running the **** away.
We didn't grow up together.
We aren't close.
You were never born.

You are just a phantom
stemmed by an unoriginal
imagination. imagination.
imagination. imagination.
But I want you to be real.
Please exist beyond my mind.

In my head,
you confided in me.
In my head,
I wasn't so ******* alone
from ages 6 to 16.
In my head,
you're a phone call away.
I don't want to write a poem
to communicate to you.
Be born. Be born. Be born.

I have so much
I want to share.
I want you to meet
my girlfriend Rachel.
I want you to hear
about how everything
is going well, for once.

Be born. Be born.
Be born. Be born.

The girl and I
were tickled by sea foam,
our ankles wrapped in
diamond studded leeches--
We are the
yellow-bellied *******
in a porcelain nest of water.

Our running is stunted.
Our heels are bouncing
off the beach-face
and we are distracted
by the butterflies
because they look like
flowers floating before
the orange
and purple bled sky.

The girl and I
are in love,
but we laugh at feelings.
There's a polished
wrecking ball
swinging between our
chewed lips.
And we agree
love is for tin birds
in a flame cage.

We met under the night sky.
With bitterness layered in the breeze,
Yet with that came honest intentions and curiosity.
And we played under the stars, tracing out unsaid promises into each other's skin...
Saying things to each other
as if the
morning wasn't going
to come.

But the morning did come,
And you were still there.
The sun rose and shone on my flaws,
And you were still there.

How she sat there
with movement in her head.
A churning of learning
the ways to get ******
and slaughtered by
other people's
sons and daughters.

And how I sutured a gust
of her brain exhaust
into my chest, into my lungs--
I breathed her like I was
******* the end of a
tailpipe.

Her hands ran like busted tires
as she massaged my temples,
revving her voice,
my ears on her
suicide door lips.

There is no green light
in her red light country.

Everyone sat
criss-cross-applesauce
in our hearts.
Perfume is made
with dead things, right?

I try hard to sound
important,
when I write *******
because
there are bodies
reading this *******.

And bodies grow and wither.
They thrive and survive.
They get married
and die alone.
They die.

To become dead.

Perfume is made
with dead things, right?

Part of a mud-caked quilt,
between the city walls
and the tornado path,
*******--not at all.
Because he's a voice
in the crowd.

If I could shave
your burnt hair from my arms.
And hear the sirens blare
through cross-stitched alarms.
I would give until
the water leaves
the copper cuffed canyons
in my sleeves.
I want to want something
more than what I'd give.
Just to blend into the sky.
You and I.

pillars of darkness are full of debris
suspended in silence
as inside so outside
one day everything is transparent
the angel of apocalypse seized the window of opportunity
the meaning is locked in the semiotic circle
I and non-I mutually annihilating each other
terror breathed in normally
psychic ***** killing biology
the impossible unreachable pain
the mute rage
the lost connection between heart and heart

so powerful and meaningless from above
so small down there
all those little roads
men like ants, bugs, worms
all those petty little lives

to be above, to disconnect from this void
from the taste of earth in the mouth

frozen semiosis
things are sick of meaning
interchangeable
murderers can be heroes, devotees
dreamers

let us weep, let us pray
that we never forget
how the heart knows to play
the chords of day

A warning mist spreads
as the full moon casts its spell
beware of the moors

When you have those mornings
when you wake up and
you can't
love yourself,

I will love you.

When you have those afternoons where you cannot
hold
yourself
together,

I will hold you.

And when you have those nights where your thoughts take over
and they won't
go
away,
I will stay with you 'till the morning

And I
will
love you
all
over
again.