fairies ****,
-you said, pulling off their wings
and *



dripping in self-amethyst
you laid out your plans for armistice.lapping up the pools of it that had collected on the floor
it was splendid.

somewhere in the distended belly
of
our longing:
you
were
scraping out the bowels. of
those that bound you here with.me

with each of your heads coming out.covered  
in
ugly slender mandorla:
floating atop like a flame of
mountains.slithering into the air, as ready to fight someone as to
forget it all
and
fall back into quiet loathing.

i am underwhelmed by the way you seek finality.
it really is an adolescent impulse.
and so is neither good nor bad
as some would have you believe.
but don't hold it up so ******* high

and when the silence is broken by your ugly smile

i am spilling out into
mouthy gauze-
a dawnless gurgling-
  and
a minnow's fate.

i could out you.
      in an instant
but.

.
.

they sent me an empty bag instead of the prayer beads i'd
ordered. and amidst my orange lightbulbs and safety glasses, and package-related things, i found the plastic envelope. wherein lay nothing but the label. and a split down the side to tell me what might have been in there once. i gave $20 to a homeless man on the red line because they say it went as low as -8 that night and much worse with the wind.he looked like family, and i was standing up. (on my way to you)but our feet, together in bed- touching through my socks
are like seed packets-dry envelopes that sit around on bureaus. after the garden is trampled with ice-inhospitable even to those **** rabbits whose tracks still pass that way.you say: you will plant them again next year.come spring. come the thawing of the ground. come, a different sort of loveliness. and
i just wanted that necklace because i liked the look of it-
the
yellow string against the unfucked-with
wood.

and that is an aesthetic worth crying over.

sitting here,
i know that look in your eyes
like culty mattress store fake zen music.
ambient as ****.
and you were waiting for the radiator to burst-
explode, **** everyone with
chunks of cast iron hurled through their heads
like nothing.
you,
listening to the hiss and whur - lazy and calm
like nothing was wrong.

up to
a mouthy gauze-
a minnow's fate-
a dawnless gurgling-
Minoa-
skin caught in the zipper-
someone else's house-
melatonin-
outdated documentaries-
spilled -
actual bronze-
plexiglass tables-
vocaloid

where morgoths and mongrels
i misss my monsters
thrown lead (sculptures)in the shape of you
scripture breaking off where you
ransomed
beggars cant be choosers but killers can get you
if they want

caught top



World holder!

the lenths at wich pragmatist go to **** eachother
you make getting offended an art form, all the while calling out others as you please