Do you
have a hyphenated-identity too?
Do you make me
or is that
upside-down-backwards?

We take so many ideas back.

You lick the old scars on my arm
you let the bugs in my stomach live
live.

Blue-black brick buildings
and jars and jars
of green dreams you've had
about me

It's all
about me

Did you build me in your
miss-matched
reddish-green bed-
room.
Painted or maybe born out of song
so
tie your wires
build your allegiances

there's too much water in the air

You know
I'm on step three
of the grieving process now
three whole days
and like frozen cream
you roll on my teeth
my tongue

dripping

You used to be warm
and stretched over oceans
and oceans
when I used to know the bones
in your
face

it's all about me

Presence
and more narrow
you in my bubbles
and my
thoughts

click

The city and the buildings
determine
being in love.
Drag her by the hair,
cut flowers in the desert

Without books about love
you wouldn't know how to do it
or make it, or feel it
The funny
Sad-funny thing is
Poets only pretend to be in love.

I puke love blood
ha
ha
on the off-white rug
I carve your face only in mirrors

I set dolls of
you on fire
watch the pink dust
of your lips make
patterns of impossible density

You have to be well-versed in
insanity
to know you're insane.

Drinking vials of your
pitch black
I turn it red to decorate
my squirming

I've read the rules
I know how to be in love
I’ve seen the healthy city
The building of love.

Big Blue empires of love,
A king and a half to every throne.

Some of them full of
bones like the old day
(Who's gonna sort you out?)

Strand up straight
as to not fall over
every time I see an eye
that could match your left one

I shrink in my shirt
and climb out the
head hole
and look for my brain in
broken jars
wadding around in anyone's soul.

The tale of common things,
my savage tooth on your rich arm
Whoever showed us the methods of in love
(you taste like cracked glass
to coat my stomach)

Whoever showed us the methods
of in love
like accidental ****.

Come out, come out
I'm ****** lands
and a naked flag

And the straight lines, sticking up
Soul-sick too...
Read it in the windows
and hanging signs
"You Are To Be In Love"

Come out, come out
I'm ****** lands
Smooth flat
an almost naked flag

and
the lizard-landscape
of you
here
in the
flat
anti-city
lands
here
we
keep quiet
on sins

(crawl into my mouth, the sun
isn't out anymore)

Big blue queens
are out
reigning around me

and you don't think I'm lonely
(?)

I guess these are the good years
Style booming up the hallway
Watching
Girls
Morph into women
Licking up cement
In sideways jungle gyms

Seeing the sun upside down for the first time
Crackling body parts
On its bald face
Sacrificing only disgust

Jumping from shape
To shape into
Laundry baskets
Losing the whole wide
******* world inside
Of an ice cube
Or inside
the couch, next to the lint

Watching hungry flowers
Latch on to the sky
helping
Twisting your hair in my fingers
Smelling animal fears

Thinking so far out loud
Beetles bleed out your yellow ears

Watching boys
Sawed into men

Placing indigo scales onto skin
Changing the heat up and down
Melting ice cream
On your *******

Kids playing forced warfare
Inventing purple clouds and bullet holes
and
Somewhere inside the bloodshed,

Making love just enough to
Make you drool enough to feast,
It’s the only time you know hunger.

The shaking syllables of innocence.

It’s
Seeing something so beautiful
You dismiss it as commonplace,
Misplace it even.

I guess good is good.

No friendship is worth your marriage

Talking about the future with a stranger
Giving them your address

No friendship
is worth it

You do it
I do it
We all do it

The conversation
the future

Taking the dog out
in the garbage

Greasy hair

Inside other people's homes
Inside dresses
and churches

You do it
I do it

****** relationships with God
Weddings with too much champagne

cleaning up

Christian music and soap operas

where the **** have you been?
you do it too you know?

Chemistry and chemistry
aqueduct eyes
Watching midnight become noon
I don't think I have anything here
No leads.

The dropped out moan
before you sleep
Take a piece of the moon
in our sheets

close them tightly

We are standard-issued clowns
with Picasso painted hearts

With all the fine measurements

We both do it, under neon signs and
plastic candy stars

I'm just tired,

Trilobites were extinct
Once, just like the Dinosaurs
a hundred million years ago
and also,
in the bible, the end comes when
the sun turns black
the seas full of life drain
and the images of Hell are images of the Opposite

At least wood comes back to the ground, to the Earth

I feel like everyone is acting
-just acting-
underneath the
Play
There is an ounce of Real
People
Under the
Plastic surgery in Plastic Life in Minutes
The made up
I made up
The Concepts within the metaphors
The circled
Answers
Or historians fighting over
( I want to say)
History

What does the knowledge of
Certain decay do to you?
To the psyche?
And more importantly
To your
Self?

Plastic doesn’t even decay, unlike wood.

I thought killing someone was the only free choice
Not denied
Then again,
We all want a singing God
But no one ever gets one
I got a Styrofoam box
And plastic cutlery
At the eating place
I can’t sleep
I can’t believe in making love
And the bats are acting like birds.

Today starts with a headache
The sun isn’t even warm and I feel taken apart
Women climb in and out of beds made for four
Men drink and chase and bleed strange colors
Humanity is a syntax error
And so is Truth
And so is color

Today continues with pseudo intellectualisms
With flesh friction on flesh
With lips full of blood
Eyes full of hot water
And music
But I am deaf and folded over

Today doesn’t continue, today drags

Today ends with steel and cement
Cracked from cold and letting wilting flowers wilt
It’s not even a holiday
It’s just a shadowy Sunday without church
Without school
Without landmarks or
Things to be remembered

Singing one time like all
Clothed eyed people
Rolling their own cigarettes (that’s important)
Shawls and things that only
You know
Certain types of people wear
And the uniforms here are backwards
And you win only if
You stand out, but it’s just running away with people not chasing
Haircuts
Those are important too
Guys pretend not to have one but they let the faces get rough
And forest like
And girls act like caring isn’t a type of flightless bird but
It’s more of a statement maybe

And I thought I couldn’t be a banker because of the
Way I acted
And the way I felt about things like the weather and prostitution
But really
I can’t be a poet
Least of all I can’t be a poet

I must be wrapped swimming in clouds backwards, or something poetic like that
I can’t tell
The difference between
Being a doctor, teacher
A healer, a man that crucifies himself on Wall Street
A serial killer
A starving child
And a fashion guru

Earlier I said this out loud and
Now it’s a poem

( and the words go **** me **** me **** me
and the pages sing **** me **** me **** me)