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ATL 4h
though with due reverence
i kiss the graves of dead poets-

the breathing kind must disassemble an atom to gain a fleck of praise.

no i don’t like it when they say
“i let you hurt me”

try:

please
treat me to porridge filled with kerosene
and rebar,

i’ll let you
drag a razor across my gums

if you kiss those fickle carmine streaks
that dribble from my tongue every time
i find the audacity to speak to you,

tint me,
tint me with spit and break me into cannon fodder,
princess

i know that mirrors
and **** pipes are real,
cobwebs too.
ATL 4h
right now i despise everything i’ve ever written

looking through the stories
of a million untold lives.

i feel my words
as hideous black mixtures;

foolish curves and games of association.

let me
paint them on your eyelids,

and build another sorry ideal
to taunt myself with in the twilight.
ATL 2d
remind me that i’m not a nag
and i’ll build you a boat made of
frilled marigolds & thornless roses,

i’ll float us along
and talk about how

it upsets me
when i see pieces of my father
mix into basic interactions.

my fear will leave
to go sit next to triangles in heaven

and i’ll wait for a scarecrow from high school that i loved but never slept with,
i’ll wait and think of your eyes.
ATL 2d
since meeting you
i’ve understood the impulse
inside of a grave-robbers mind

when he pitches his shovel
and looks at a mound
of soon to be upturned earth.

i’ve wanted to take every action potential
and place it in the wires on a telephone pole,

watch it spark and yell timber
as tree limbs give way
on the route to the roof
of the home that i slept in
when i knew how to sleep;

ill wake to the sound
of the ceiling caving in

just to think it was creaks on the stairs
during christmas day morning-

i’ll look up at leaking pipes
peaking from the insulation

and ask them for presents and chocolate.
ATL 3d
to undo the part of myself

curled as thin twine on her finger-
that pallid tissue paper skin
wrapping a network of crimson lighting.

veins turn violet
underneath layers of that kind...
my words cannot excavate every color.

yes your eyes were
a freshly struck match;
brief sight before returning
to cold outlines of breath in the dark.

i’m returned to their glow
every time i wish
i could isolate a melody
that feathers my cheek

(scribble the chords on a napkin

for when you get messy)

you know i’m deaf,
but my eardrums still quake
at the sound of falling pins
and dancing angels.
ATL 4d
4 A.M My Lai;

in the lowlight
colors move off my skin at different speeds-

i’ll smear them into filth,
a vignette
plastered and permanent,

and beg
for my face to be scanned like a barcode.
ATL 4d
no more ligands
uptakes or exchanges,

just a wall,

a wall erected inside of me,
that rejects all attempts of a raze.
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