oh limp morning, take me early  
I taste June like burning
sometimes soft like cinnamon
filling up for hollow afternoons.
French-kissing myself and
all my, finely laced thoughts about you
all of that heat spread in pots
I call a garden & slowly I let you
spread me thin again

spilt on
spinning
another metal-goodnight another
"I hope we're alright"
darling it's Sunday
honey it's numbers like,
four and
ten; it is fourteen, I'm spent
I'm done saying I'm
bent and yours and-or-hers, I'm
again I am, against this
might as well say
tired, my god
I'm allowed to be quiet
I can't fix tired or change what's burnt
I won't
move for you if it hurts
I won't
if it hurts
& I can float from humility but
I won't if you serve it
I
do not think it is worth it

love isn't every when you're tired
but I dance I dance with love every hour
foot step on footstep, right now
you're on the couch
you're on my mind you're always
doesn't mean I'm being still
am I and am I ask me if I'm ever still
and I'd still tell you sometimes
I'd still say
sand and
please
I'd say I
love you too and
everything

I've felt as, left-over as
last-night's left-hand & her
reclaiming, uncanny way of
well / of
my oh my, what a
good morning, I'd love to but;
I'd just need my heart back

it's the cartwheeled chaos
slapping against,
counting again to see if it works-
I'm calling my bluff I've had
enough of all the nothing.
you're the little tag on my red
the writing in black
every time it is grey until
there isn't anything left of you but
a hundred poems
the striped gills of my sorrow and
some slang cause
I ain't got it in me anymore

Last night's courage not to call you
last night and every;
peel off pretty, it's six it's 7,
Is something
is tired, rewind her

I can lie down, longer
she's got it, going on.
stitches and weekends
never with you on the weekend
isn't cotton
it's-red
isn't your mouth either

living up handstands
living down longing
is really
something
is lonely
in yellow
I don't want, sometimes
I still want you shouldn't you
ever want me
isn't poetry
isn't easy
on
weekdays
and every
on
blisters on
forget it
my lips on
holiday

I believe that
every bone has a story
that even the sun gets tired
and
that's why it rains /
I saw you waltzing
in and out like, you'd gotten lost
you keep sayin' in
everyone else's tongue so I'd
finally forgotten what you sound like;
it's been, all chop & pour anymore so,
I gently shut all of those, doors against
locks I'd given away the keys to.
they'd find me out the window,
into wet gardens of snails and worm
a stolen bird with no nest
doesn't want a handout
just more time to
make back her bed

I'm in a little bit of a rush here
still I'm
trying much softer /
speaking in grey, untying my
tongue
biting the side with your name on it /
be something other than beautiful
say something other than rain
liar's lullaby, a
fool's morning
feeding off the extra
& I'm to do it over again ¿
twice removed.
in your shoes.
under my spell.
over coffee.
put on the Beach Boys this time
drink *****
stay up 2 hours longer
I'll see you again, I swear
when there is, less grass and
when you call her
do it in the other room
the cold one, way in the back