Night is for the hours
Cowards,
Let a man of God speak or night
Will continue to burn flowers

It's been said napkins are the greatest currency
For it holds the food spittle of man
Like how ambulances sit waiting
To clean up after misfortunes
And make fortunes for the fortun-
Who Ate paragraphs of spider webs
And patted weaves like black men seating at the back of the limited luxurious Q46 bus nodding heads to the noise of Toyota cameras they couldn't afford in the land where they spend $300 million to part the seas for summer entertainment
While they only spent $40 on California cuteness and walked on water with 13 Jesus' and ate at the bottom of the sea with only three tokes from the plastic bag

Let a man of God speak or night
Will continue to burn flowers
For we graduated from 30 hot nights of mathematics
Only to find that the future will always be white and in the *******

i don’t want to make art tonight.
i want to spray my walls thick
with blue, splattered skyguts
and beat my tears raw against my bedpost
(notch free because i count
with my fingers + toes)

love always happens by accident and i
never forgave anyone for stepping on my
red suede shoes just like my vinyl
told me to. the television is my real mom
the radio my nanny because i listened to
fake art all my life and now i dont know
how to not make it

i tried so hard to be a winter reed, mother.
tape didn't help--couldn't be a wallflower
despite a tendancy to make love to wallpaper
(something about the pursuit
of insulated happily ever afters)

i tried so much to be an iron fist, father.
i crumple like aluminum at schoolyard bullies
my baby instincts faulty, it's flight or falter
(if it's any comfort to you
i have no love. too unruly)

what is an ugly? other than blood you're afraid of
bleeding softly from each crevice of heart pumps,
the gray side of the moon and the corner of rooms
undusted and disemboweled reluctantly.

you are so beautiful in bright rags of black and blue
and i'll stay half-hearted as you ask me to judge
your thighs (perfect) and nose (twisted) by the weight
of your meat and soul respectively.

an ugly is an analogy for discomfort and newness:
people are scared of unfamiliar but i find the sensation
of biting my nails off for sport exhilarating. your mascara
looks horrible today and i will kiss it to exhaustion

i’d love to sugar your mouth,
gumdrops a sour lipstick compared to
umami tongue flickering with laughter

your hands are like syrup around mine
and i find it fitting to drown often
infinitely into the parfait puzzle piece.

“i haven’t eaten in days” i breathe on your
face while we forget that the playstation
whines still. “me either” your eyelash falls
on my shoulder and we dine on eachother instead.

when i stopped answering your calls i heard you
bitterly projecting over to where my friends sit
(my concrete friends not my real ones) you scream
“it’s no big loss
she had daddy issues.”

i remember that you didn’t floss your teeth
because you hated looking at yourself in the mirror,
and every night you would tuck in
your television instead of your baby sister.

i have issues with life: they tried to purge my very being
with fire and locusts, everyone involved too stubborn to win
i appreciate your efforts only in blood. please do not
boil my mistakes to a precipitate
of the fist that feeds me