one simple sting on the tongue liver shocks and
drop by drop you
lie through your teeth.

six Septembers and nine days to the mark I

was gone like a cat hiding in the drains.

                                  look at me. I am yellow with anticipation.

     corrode dates and twist memories like rags and red soak

                             sick and perforated you proliferate and the

cycle continues..

I don't leave anymore

I am vacated, with my
head stuck out the window I

left the real world; prayers stinging my tongue.

purples and blues and black
orange green blue.

there is a basket of rotting fruit beside me.

the night is cold it
eats at my fingers and they surrender to
numbness and the
anticipation that tomorrow will
be somehow better
still teases my brain.

there is fire hanging above me.

what was this supposed to be again?

I think I left my keys in the car.
the nightbird sings a song
the humid air beats down like
a while-worn five hundred miles.

a roach tapped against the glass.
a gasp is stuck in my throat like
gross times *****-up and eye lids
shut.

the keys are in the car and this poem means nothing.

here I sit
eyeing my peers and ****
trying to figure out
whether its serum or
fear that makes them
sear spit and tick.

       later

candy chronicles pushing mama
making her mad
             so sad making a midnight carnival,
keeping the house up
       yelling it down
no one ever comes around.

I am,

static bring me back the stone

bring back us the grave.

I am,

weathered and the stones

surface is covered in moss.

slipping my sleeping head beneath

slippery stone.

dead particles clinging to static.

I am,

shadows over your mouth

full feeling of weight and listless

ness lifting you to meet the sun.

I am

sound and soft waters

crisp undulating waves

polish my face.

     my teeth are sharp and white.

we awake and i whisper to u a little while
with all of days gone by us
suffering to palliation and joy to dust
they dying of the light
and the ephemeral sadness in our bones
only the shadow and sleep to call home
melt away
with the fizzle-drip-dripping
skip tipping our hats like madmen
crashing through the black.