her food is rotting
you can see the mold on it
she shoves it away

i give a couple hundred dollars to the orcas on charity night
which is the night that isn’t so great because I don't get anything

i go to an orphanage in Kenya
and it’s not fun

maybe because I have look them in the eyes
or maybe because it's just not fun

my brother is really involved and I am not

he makes the few small dents that he can with the insufficient chisel that he was given
he works tirelessly

and I just say “**** it”
and I throw my chisel on the ground and instead pick up my laptop and watch netflix

moroccan women line the streets with chipped teeth and black gums

some with babies
some with groceries

their backs disfigured and their skin corroded
by the weight of responsibility
and mom and I pass by them at 45 miles per hour

their stories are a blur
a mere glimpse
drowned amongst the picturesque landscapes

they are comfortably at bay
i have a satisfying distance from their days

we take the high road
across the Tichka Pass
which is surrounded by overwhelming purple mountaintops

that have the power to separate two worlds
that are indifferent to the meager tires of our jeep
that amount to more than I ever will
that I will never be able to appreciate enough

they taunt me with their greatness
they soak me in their pride

but the pass is covered in ice
so we will have to wait to go to the desert

and although I play a character that is flexible and understanding
i am a little annoyed that our precious little itinerary is ruined

my overalls don't sag
they hang a bit
they hover an inch or two over my skin
structures form in mid air from their thick denim
and their legs are rolled to expose the white underside of their flesh

you may notice how i use the pronoun they
because my overalls don't have a gender
they landed in the arms of galactic painters
from the cosmos
crafted with the purest intentions
by aliens
who decorated them with buttons and straps

now i wear them with so much dignity
and they wear me with nonchalance

alas, spring was a time of fakeness
and sally sneezed in sequences
everything swayed with breeze
on the brink of warm and cold were the colors
greens and yellows and ochres
that were pleasing those eyes
red, moist, sore
emblazoned by the dusty air
everything reproduced at a fast rate
au printemps, she remembered
bath absorbed
sally wandered
less direction now
her home near
too familiar now to be satisfying in any way
there she was
when she awoke at noon

hair dark
slick and swift
the skin between my fingers gliding through

skin dark
caramel dreams
ashkenazi schemes

eyes dark
hot springs
placed there
for me to swim in

wholesome clothes
wholesome glasses
wholesome hand
wholesome body

dense but airy
not ******* but very there

tangible torso
in my bed please

jaw and face
cutting but gentle
in the cup of my hand

warming smile

his lips on mine

taupe is the hue
that comes to mind

when two chords
are played in pairs
four times
which makes eight movements

then the words come
but they don't arrive
or completely appear
they merely peek
from behind the stone wall
of the bass
muffled and shrouded
by some dull amber liquid

it is Kurt
and he speaks of his home
of Oregon
in all of its earthy moisture

and then when the chorus arrives
the spectacle of violins
and the tangibility of his words
is lucid enough to paralyze
and lay to rest

i open my eyes and realize that its about the same as closing my eyes, because the hotel room is pitch black except for two little red dots gleaming from the dvd player or something. i think about when you came back from the bathroom, arriving at the table with a smirk on your face, because you thought you were so slick and sly when really you looked stupid because your lipstick was smudged, and when i told you, you wiped it off and said i must have accidentally wiped my face, which was the dumbest possible excuse, because if that had actually happened, you would have probably been looking in the mirror and been able to fix it before you returned, and i knew this, and cora knew this, and you knew that we knew it, and so your expression changed rapidly, and you looked so ******* pathetic, and the whole thing was so humiliating. the room is getting more clear, and everything is covered by this navy haze, and i can barely make out the dark edges of, well, i don't know exactly what, but the one thing i can see for sure is the glossy highlights of the small bottles of tequila and ***** and beer that are resting on the minibar. then i think of when you first left the table, and you said i need to go to the bathroom, and then greg went too, like five minutes later, and cora and i shared an awkward glance, because we knew that this was a plan you two had set up, so that you could meet up and make out or even ****, and so we were silent for a long time and then we would bring up the bad service once in a while and say we were hungry, when really we just wanted to not be alone together and having to look at each other while you guys were making out or probably ******* at this point in the bathroom, and then the food came and we just looked down at it because we had nothing else to say. and now the room is much much clearer, and the hue is a much lighter blue, and i can make out distinct shapes like the tv monitor and the windows and curtains and the desk and i can even sorta see the labels of the bottles on the minibar. it was again like five minutes after you had come back, and the whole lipstick fiasco had happened, that greg came back, according to your plan, and by that time we were all looking down at our food, and i had the mushroom risotto, and cora had the halibut, and you and greg both had the rack of lamb, but greg wasn't looking down at his food, because he thought that no one knew, and he had that same stupid smirk on his face, because he was probably thinking of how good and hard he had just ****** you, and all i could think of was how much of a fool you made me look, and how i should say something biting under my breath at the table, or on the car ride home, but i never did. and now i still have the urge to get my payback, but you're asleep and you probably wouldn't hear, and what's the point anyway, and the room is so grotesquely clear, and it's as if it's the bright of day, and i can make out every little detail on the wallpaper and the carpet and the stupid wall artwork and that ******* minibar, and i don't have the strength to cry or even get angry, and my whole body just feels sweaty and numb under these hot sheets, and i just want to end this feeling, and so the two red dots are the last thing i focus on before i close my eyes.

in the at&t store
or whatever you call it
everything is so so cold
and the phones are too shiny and sleek and black
and they are on plastic hangers
which go on metal rods
and the people that work there
wear really starchy shirts
with embroidered logos

i am here
and i am also wearing a shirt i don't like
its way too small
and my armpits are uncomfortable

im here because i am buying one of those shiny phones
because its my birthday
the day i was born
almost exactly 16 years before
but it takes so long
and i don't want to be in this cold room
and i feel like i have been in cold rooms all day
and i start crying because i'm surrounded by phones
while the guy talks about insurance to my mom

i dont want a phone
i want to go home
and i want to take off this shirt

things that grow
also shrink
everything rewinds
bigger then smaller
things that stretch and lengthen into a thin wire
also coil back into a ball
things that twist upward
deplete and sag and turn grey
things that are taught and dense
end up loosening
when most things fall
they also bounce up
at least a little bit
its not good or bad
its just true

in the riad
you thought you heard a siren sing to you
because the lucidness of the mediterranean breeze
set the place ablaze

in fact it was the midday prayer
a pulsating f sharp
cuts through the town
bringing all under the influence of him

the locals call this place chefchaouen
the blue city
conversation is rampant in this town
symphonies of language are scattered

weathered backs
wrinkles and creases that document
the plight of these creatures
they heave baskets
weighted by their livelihood

when night falls
all is intoxicated by the temperature
and nymphs scurry in the form of sand

in the riad
the siren sings to you again

his eyes wide and blue
bulging expressively
his sweater soft
it’s cashmere and it caresses tender surfaces
bundles of it gather over time at scattered oases
they are now mine
they are now my bundles
they smell of old clothing and mildew but he still is dressed by them
he is living in them
pointe shoes pound the surface of the stage
but look increasingly elegant
like my mother
their costumes glistening and frosted by a powdery film
of glitter and artificial snow
now Bob Dylan’s punctual strings resonate in my memory
he’s telling me to keep my head forward like Steve used to do
if I don’t look back
i don’t have to say goodbye

light escapes upon
the little ridge of his lip
and bounces to me

Crimson curtains opening and closing and draping over a cliff say:
          it’s showtime
          (or lights going on and off).

Let’s go through the alphabet and use alliteration:
          Daffy Duck, Porky Pig,
          (or other creatures getting hurt tonight).

I hope and dream that their hopes and dreams have plummeted like their bodies:
          by the wayside
          (or waist-side, or waste-side, or cliffside)—

low tide that surges shores like the seamstress from New Zealand:
          those Kiwis,
          (or feijoas, or passionfruit).

But passion don’t matter to us folks, and neither do kangaroos! We have our own hops:
          Pabst Blue Ribbon draining in sad funnels
          (or Bud Light, a treasure).

Second is the best, but Third is the one with that treasure chest in his stupid palm:
          not even knowing what to do
          (or how to act).

Are you serious, bro? It’s called a shotgun! Shoot it with my key:
          pop the cap to release pent-up pressure
          (or you can just chug normally).

Choo-choo trains chug, Thomas and me, little plastic wheels in hot pursuit:
          I know you can do it
          (or my name’s not Percy),

as I violently consume swizzle sticks before the sepia glow of:
          That’s all, folks!
          (Or is it?)

visage on mirror
rembrandt could have painted this
sheer cloth, bare body

my fingers
are coated in a smooth
transparent film

of wax
from my own
mini candle

wax is
in fact
everywhere

in the crevasses
the skin
of my palms

scattered
about the thighs
of my pants

because i
have been childishly
crumbling it

unlike any of my surrounding
more mature
counterparts

because
i'm anxious
and sad

the now-desheviled stick
then brings me
to tears

when the lights
dim
and the flame

is passed around
like blessing
and hopes

in the
crisp wintery evening
in this church

the flame
only rises
in silence

the silence
is sharp
like a needle

it weaves
through the hearts
of the crowd

there are so many
and yet
it is silent

and the candle
is now
crying as well

milky fat tears
that tumble
and harden

in thin air
defying the laws
of physics

and everything
is dark and silent
except our flames

those flames
they only
rise

you looked down at your feet
the veins there
pulsated and scurried
to another place; away

you looked up and saw a face belonging to a girl named maude
you could tell by the mouth

you looked back down
this time at your hand
where you found
one (or two or three)
blunt(s) object(s)
and you threw it/them at the mirror
so you no longer had to see maude

you walked out, into the foyer
and you were throwing a party

you walked out, into the boiler room
and you were throwing a party

you walked out, into the bathroom
and you were throwing a party

everywhere there were parties
and everyone's mouths were opening and closing
and you were trying to hear what they were saying
but only distorted and muffled noise was being produced

the heron croaked three times
you didn't know what time it was

the heron croaked thrice
and what time was it

the heron croaked three
then you had to answer one question:

what time is it?

if you ever find yourself
tangled in a wood
please call my name

if you're falling
through some sort of
musky molasses
ill be there
among the muck

if the gasping ember blows
and winter cuts into
your warm body
i will send five fires
to ignite your veins again

if rocks stop on you

if they perpetrate a storm

when you feel it

try to summon me

because i would lift you out of blue flames
i would let the tips scratch my porcelain flesh
and i would writhe
for you to be free

ole fiery light, september banter
summer goose and winter gander
three, two, cannon fire
silly little fool playin a lyre

ole fiery light, new and amber
vermin tender, vermin camber
tease and trees and loverboys
gypsy kid with gypsy toys

ole fiery light
navy drunken night

ole fiery light
a sparrow taking flight

ole fiery light, september banter
summer goose and winter gander
three, two, cannon fire
silly little fool playin a lyre

sally says summer
looks like a quiche
buoyant
adjacent to the toaster oven
her breath releases
when the summer days are fresh
and the summer nights are safe

last night as i was laying in bed
i clutched a memory real close to my chest
and nibbled on it throughout my sleep
this is how i relive things
savoring them one crumb at a time

the memory was from this summer
looking up at the navy sky
being young and flirty and funny
like we’re supposed to be

what? no! i don’t wanna release it
stop making me
please
stop trying to pry my marble fingers off this little thing
stop trying to make me throw it all up
i wont let you

i dont realize it (or maybe i do)
but its already over
and we’re already moving on to this next thing
and it wont be as fun

but soon that’ll come to my attention
in the morning

when you were born
the stars and the suns and the planets and the moons reversed
and slowly crept backwards, recounting history
explosions and implosions freckled the void
lives were lived and clouds mummified the earth
craters blemished the faces of many and documented years of torment
asteroids punched the surfaces of aspiring habitats
it was a senseless frontier with no remorse or empathy
but then the void was eased with substance
and the communities pulsated and changed in undulating trends
until finally they reverted completely towards one point
a single, lone point surrounded by nothing
it was you
and you were born

a funnel is the most pathetic
its disposition is the obvious symbol for america
sad in its upside-down-triangle-with-thing-on-bottom ways
just lying there in the corner of the party
go ahead and guzzle down the warm ***** of youth
numb yourself with pbr
the sound of chug chug chug
chug chug chug chug
chug chug
chug
chu...

hiver is the french word for it
but sally calls it blanket time
even though it's cold
yes, the trees may shiver
but the snow and ice
just looks like a coat
if one thinks like that
like sally
they are not then cold

you're ok
you're fine
you're ok
no your not
what are you talking about
no stop you're ok
you're fine
no you're ******
dont you know it
ur ok
****
its alright
you're ok
you're fine
**** u
you ****
why are you like this
no its not u
no it is
no your good
you're fine
you're ok
ur alright
you're fine
calm down
you're fine

AHH i hate you
just breathe
breathe
breathe
you're fine

FUCKKKK
its fine
it’s alright
calm down

hey dude are you ok?

yes.

restless am i, restless am i
deprived so
jailed by the width of my eyes
restless i am

here it is, it is here
where i lay
above the barren white sheet
restless

am i sweating? am i sweating?
but still my flesh runs cold
on the springs of my spine
am i restless?

down to rest, restless here
the twitch of my thigh
the quake of my breast
i am restless

sally in the fall
was hooked by the sky
lured, engaged, magnetized
because the sky was purely white
or light grey
and tangled in the branches of severe trees
painted orange
then stripped naked
exposed and vulnerable they were
but mostly in the fall
the cozy, coated animals
were squirrels and deer
they scurried
yet knowing in their safety
this is their domain, the forrest
and its floor was a bathroom floor
leaves acting as lavish tiling
everything was dewey and fresh
scrubbed clean by the soap of mother
bathed in her faucet
sally respirated deeply in these times
new, new