and when i'm overconfident,      i give away things that i shouldn't
i will miss them someday when i'm in bed-
the nails still growing
no mater how short they get cut. keep cutting
them shorter and shorter

looking down at it.
hallway-stairling 
bleating,
unsated.
perambulating this



/

lay not in the grasses- for the listing of the world(s)


wash the backs of your knees

prethunderstorm, arm-deep into the buoyant ions
wet molars      slipping backwards         drying out
girls running track
(in and around buildings)
>throwing up everyday

acid backs of teeth decaying me.
like the mold on the white windowsill-
out in open airs
the film you think might be just
dirt.
like the unexplained black things under your fingernail anatomies

like grabbing the wrong towel

putting on a clean t-shirt
a necklace clasp caught in the back of your hair.      cutting it

gentle and godless
head-damp in the big nowhere
like an out-patient gun   waiting to send its children home





/

yours is the knife that
lies in bottles of pickled
berry fingers, the night
is is the way you move- groove:
how it stains them-
the sun that shines on the other side
of the
moon craze.
so shut up (and sit down)
with all the garden things crawling in your hair.
cut it short, babe.
end it
soon. but
gimme good-
eyes like stale jellybeans tumbling out
the bag, over-ripped-open.

he's still out there.

still coming for you.
don't tie your shoes.

don't love me well
don't find a way to
get away

we need these            and more.

and when the toes break
from kicking at
everything,

history will show us that there is no good and evil.
only
cruelty
and different directions in which it falls at certain times.

and when you are brought to tears
by an upload of an old toonami ad-
that ******* takes you there,

you will know about it.


and living,
you will fall into
the spaces
that
sleep
ever just out ofgrasp

churning like a bellow of
me

that which seeks to **** me
                                     is just,
and
those that live in the past,   die somewhere.
she cradled my head.

it wears you down
smooth.
neat as the unfurrowed brow of its next victim.
mother holds our hands firmly as we cross-
baby takes a tumble in the road-
but baby, bae af, gets up.

violence loves, more explicit than we, in the pause occupied between our
breaths.
less noble but more real. love> embryonic, ****** goth (at last!)
baby drips forthright into pieces, ***-lunged in the afternoon sun from windowlings- useless. head-lolling and good
enough.

we
get up
go out. find new things to define us.

sugar-milk wants to. knows best. gets rest. spoon floating. doves drink.


don't pray.
society is disgusting.
self-preservation has always been vile.
i am filthy with less than these.

and now we are__

Normalcy is the new Punk.
destroy from the inside, baby.

get me somewhere.







/

[we live]
these
days
eyes, raw ringed: mauve.
dustcurtains. lung-still
and                 dry



cover gasping-
fingers sanded down, dusted away
to later be inlaid
with something
else.
grappling clever-
broken bird feet.
the gaping is wide enough down here
even
for you


wanting to be a victim of something good-
lapping up *** of(f) belly hair
entangled.

and

as every human speck
fights for selfpreservation- without clairvoyance or beauty.
as the mud pumps.
as carmen plays.
as we die again in less than convenient specificities.


we will be replaced.


like furniture.

and those who seek to optimize everything
right down the efficiency of shampoo in the shower-
will leave with nothing  
                           more than a clean head of hair


to fall from these, slowly
or quicker than that- depending on the mood of it. and things like
cancer.


and when the chemicals
find you
laying there alone. and sleepy
they will know to carry you outside into the yard. where the grass is
waiting
and the road is waiting
and the rain.
and the sound of cars.
and of   trees.

big-*******-trees.
roots gnarled meanly into the dark.rotty droppings of their boughs.
cold. mighty- dragging their bruisey knuckles against the
dirt
trees with ghosts
bigger than your thumbnails.
older than the grossest things in your
waste-basket.
tree-er than
tree.

and when the car swerves
and hits
i will be there.


sinking with you
into the the reservoir
doors closed.
belted.
and good


.but
i will be

and we
fall apart
don't speak
for days.


learn of the other too late.

they mightlike you but they don't understand
your

violence.they don't  get: you got to curate it a little.
i know- it's worth it in the end












































/