how beautiful, her eyes, as she walked unto me;
it is not yet the last day of spring.
the orchid screams
so benevolent. so
violent
it is not yet the last
day of spring.
scream for catharsis
scream for closure
sing for sweet release
even when i sleep, it clicks,
singing for sweet orchids. i
am always somewhere nice. i
click, click, click, last day of the
spring

"whats your favorite song?" my voice is quiet, i dont know if he can hear me a neighborhood away. maybe ill make him a casette tape like in the tv show with the lost kids, send it via stumbled conversations and the crowded hallways we float along like its the river of styx (i have 2 coins.)  

i like to pretend you wear that blue coat because you know it makes me smile, maybe your messages got misplaced somewhere. ill wait for you, across the mud where those who have wronged you are stuck, ill send little messages through my fingers alone (in the air, spelling letters, or on here. youll find them soon enough.)

i will take you to the piano hall, with the pink walls in the bad part of the neighborhood
we will sip rosé and slow dance in the sweaty gym
you will speak soft, and ill fix my hearing so i can appreciate you

all my dad bought was tequila,
so i spent my evenings staring into it, plugging my nose
(orange is my least favorite color.)
drip drip drip, onto our sidewalks, like an iv in an inevitably diseased vein
its still coming down, slowly. you feel it if you dont move
swallow me, into tunnels made of clear plastic film,
dry me out until i am the dust left by summer

i stood out in the middle of the road in the california smog
paved concrete over a desert, we wonder why it doesnt rain
i dont think ill leave here.

i want to go to a natural cemetery, no graves
the earth will be soft and all that will be left is nature, overgrown
they helped build it and i will too.

i spent my teenagedom
checking on a book, in a deep deep vault in the basement of a library
yellow lights, with 1900s girl scout manuals
it is immortal. i am responsible for it