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kfaye Jan 2016
for tom, ill in heaven.
not normal
hive life.
fin, lone mortal hive.
(*** fine lone mortal.)
if he love mortal inn,
non-mortal if he live.
kfaye Jan 2016
even now,
in the city of your keeping. pillars are erected in the name of those rings that drag across the pads of your fragile fingertips
and in the valley places, we break your hands.
i carry you around in dark tepid forests
and in the wet parts of your lungs-
we dine.
and in the outer ocean
where the lovely bundles of sinew inside your calves curl around each other to keep warm-
we force out our cries.
we gunned down our best chances.
we built upwards towards the sky.

i came to the tower when they went to worship the origin of dead
laptop fans
we want the hum like planes going by ready to drop bombs on babies-
balm of the backs of your hands-
a short- sharp, shifting weight. like the memory of a mother's dress
a weeping, like others before.
and even now,
i dilate down to your size.
i find ways of getting through to you.
i strangle out the folds in my skin.
there, lost bodies convulse to freejazz as the ship fails to come back down.
and the little black dots behind your knuckles shimmer on your bones.
kfaye Jan 2016
door  
$40 used on ebay
cleaned it up. made it good

(wore the **** out of that thing)
i found him there,

i fed him my paintings.
lured him out
with my bad poems. he
found friends in the array of ghosts i maintain under my fingernails,
and
in the old wool watchcap kept stuffed down at the bottom of my studio bag.

i fed him in the framingham night
and in the cold foreign springtime.
and we
made
peace-raids at the reservoir.
kept track
of the hours of "stargazing" spent there. while pale gods lay strewn  allover
the hillside
and in the rain
and the snow.
and the overcalculated days where it was too hot.

outside,
we sweated morphine
and ****** to tom waits,
luncheoned on the grass.
i
bore our banner and he reared his
black
buffalo head.
we slunk down into breakfast booths

i had soapy teeth.

he had a gut that burned slow like a trinket-drawer left
unopened for
years.
the ghost in my jacket, he shrinks down and curls up when he
should get big.
-reaches out to the tops of cabinets nobody can reach.
i remember him
my ghost thinks he's funny,
but
drawers get opened.
and ghosts get nervous
and coats get put away.
in progress
kfaye Jan 2016
my
name
for you makes you real.
and breath puts your pieces together across the roof of my
mouth.
i could heave you
through another age of men if you were spent-
you fall apart where the tongue stops.

i can't.

so watch us through your bedroom windows,
cuff down the tops of your socks at the sound of our coming.
clamor to us.
weave
your wars.
in progress
kfaye Dec 2015
my,
25, feels like 16
[just as long as there ain't no wind.]
i could love you
but i'd need to. crush your head
it took my blood thumbs
it took my best smiles

left me home.

honestly, i would be there
                                  for you
                              if i
                 
,  miss you but my bad knee's
acting up again.
thought of you again,
saw you standing there.
daughters smoking on the front porch  
while mothers die of cancer. upstairs in their beds
breathy weeks went by,
saw your mother-
left a stone upon your grave.
it was 25. felt like 16
got my jacket

got my blood deep inside. my thumbs
kfaye Dec 2015
fall-off-the-bone priestess
born under the pale grunge moon
offering up her (fingernails)
to the bitey flash of a laptop screen leaking into an unlit room
and the infinite bliss that is:
red electrical tape
over the blue indicator light at the tip of the power cord.
and she will **** us.
amen.
kfaye Dec 2015
you, soidal
like a wave that comes creeping
under my cages.
covers.
and the hairs in your ear.  stand still enough so as not to get caught-
in empathy
under a reaming sleep.
i tricked you into going for a ride while the roads were still wet.
there, nothing left to do.
and i,
the lisping slit filled to a two fingered fist.
front feet dragging
across
the threads of a plastic
waterbottle mouth.
            the
bullet passed through.
wetpennies.numb-deep in the lungs
the slippery film of a chewable vitamin still clinging under molars.
socks slipping down into the toes
the air swept aside into a new season, lips flared
a weekday in the back seat

and when i sweat
i check the threat
of thunder storms on my weather app.
and it calls out to us:
                   have an awesome day and a fabulous weekend
have an awesome day and a fabulous weekend
don'tfuckwithourhearts
don't let me down
hold on to it.
don't go believing in better things

and in and around the ocean, i need a fake friend
now

repeat it back to me.
fix all my mistakes.
**** me at the right time.
kick me in the skin cells
keep me.
itching at the skin
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