He had suddenly spoken that day-
Gaze fixed at the cup of ice cream in his hand,
As his other hand caressed my hair,
In the gentle coolness of October air-
That whenever he saw half-melted, half-scooped out
Strawberry- soft, thick, flowing, pink,
He would always think,
That when a spoon would run over,
Its smoothness to subtly scrape,
How sensuously it would fall like a poem,
In graceful curve, in rhythmic shape.
"And over the cold, ragged edges that remain,
I run my fingers", he said,
"And I get that feeling- you know?-
When you rub your palm against red velvet?
Yes, that!"

I nodded, feigning understanding, but oh!
How there could be poetry in strawberry,
I had not the slightest clue,
Until he smeared some with his fingers,
And slowly kissed it off my lips.
Then, I knew.

this whiskey is hate tea; jangling wraith and numb teeth
a trump of sea kelp, engorged on itself -
a fleet of reasons to go madly
if nothing else.

this drop is a bit of pretty.

and all's well.

i know it’s just the stress but the pressure behind my eyes feels like a lobotomy gone wrong

they want nothing more than to pop out

roll across the floor so you’ll finally notice that i am STARING AT YOU

because they’re just circles you won’t ever see the emotion

you won’t ever know why until you look up and you find

who these **** eye ***** belong to

and by then i’ll have ran away in embarrassment

and i’ll come back the next day

with new ones

purple ones

because you hate the color purple

and i’ll tell everyone they’re contacts

but you’ll know that those things in your drawer

that you kept in jars

because you love human body parts

were mine all along

and you’ll regret that day in the forest

against that picnic table

in that fall weather

i love fall

why did you make me taste blood

my teeth are falling out now

from chattering each time i come close to you

i don’t know

if it’s nerves or if i can just feel the cold from your sweat

nerves

nerves

the electricity

in your nerves in your veins in your neck

let me rip them out oh please

one strong grip and a tug

and there they will come flying

and i’ll attach you to every piece of metal

and i’ll fly away

and you’ll be my escape

you’ll be my escape…

Ain't nobody notices you-
'till the spot-light's on...

A smokey 'gray sigh- up
since three-in-the morn...

A stiff whisky breakfast-
stench lingers forth

and when, you, open-ya mouth-
the cold, pain'a the world, come rowlin' out.

And when, your, voice-'sprays that sound-
rattlin' round our ears like a chain.

Ya' seem old as dirt, man--
but hurt worse than your infant

***, after ya'daddy branded it--
w/ the knuck's a his backhand.

understandable why-
ya' wanna get higher,
than the fumes of ya' sapphire water.

This is all 'ya got left
'till death, comes an grants ya warmth.

and you're, all, lone till the demons
soar forth from 'ya soul.

sifting through aeons of green plums
we stagger in the hollow reeds of the wrong sun
under sorcery and utter love
ginseng in the choir of
our up above

we weave decay

we soon knit with icepicks, our idiot summer.
swinging from the chandeliers of our hovels
boiling rain
in ruby pots

delving into soft focus you can cut with a blade of gasp