HANK YOU*. the bag folded over on itself dangling from her arms
as she strut the sidewalk,
each ant below her: unaware of the things she's done and been through.
the two little boys she had killed only a few hours earlier-
found something to do with her time.

start the morning, glowing
that's a **** good cereal. don't ******* say suicide. because i know you don't mean it.
or you do.
i know you like this for all the wrong reasons i know i hate you more than you will get.i want you to get it- but you won't. it's a very narrow market,
it's a thin slippery window
and don't ******* center format
because it's time to grow up. you're not losing anything.children aren't
innocent.
just powerless.
the killing comes with experience.
*****-deep in the way you drown in it. it's better for both of us if you
figure it out.

modesty
is the ****-bait of the world.industry is booming. it's been a long day,
binders
break their spines for lovers.bent-
up. gas in the lawnmower. don't care about television. shredded antibiotics- fist full of antacids.  get
god
the **** out of here.
it's all we can do, to stay grounded.
it's
not meant to save anyone.it's not about moral superiority. its's not about being an ***.
immorality is an applied concept. amorality
is more like it.
because mother teresa was a *******.
if i had more time i'd write you a ******* song.
and the kid next to you in class was a *******.
and the killer was a *******.
and
it's all we can do, to get the hell out of here and
slide
into something a bit more comfortable.you
like
different music than i do.we
drown
in it together. like everyone else_let's hate things while i hate you.let's
plow through it all, willfully
and sensitive.

we ate the years.

i have your
twin wrists
to graze upon.   like the thin blonde hairs teasing the air- waiting to be
burnt up
in
the
over-strong sun. i'd like to polish you off, the way the splinters on the
porch
find my heels.

i'd like to get some feedback
here.

you know i can't ride a bike.

you bleed on the sidewalks for me.

my hand rests on the place where your sock had rollen down to slack around the ankle.
i'll find out real quick, where the story ends.
you've got
mr. lonesome. and the resin that oxidizes into
glue
that yellows in the UV damage
of each freckle
that might have
been.
ya?
ya.

my burden is the way you hold me harder than i, you.
and so it goes as
the big dumb line of the sun cradling the edge of your face turns red-

blushing
at the forgotten incantation.
it pauses there for a moment before flitting back into shadowy chasm of laughter- roaring deep with the bile saved up here and there, and collected from songs about the loveliness of
women
i'm thinking on this.
it moves.

slipping off of her like the arm of a relative at a funeral parlor.
sailing close to her body like the evaporated milk that comes stumbling out.
these years in retrograde lay waste to our whinings.
they place bets against us, odd-ball us out of the cafeteria line-up

with the styrofoam trays still clasped between our ******* and the rail. >>

we sink
like a trade-off of gestures inside a heavy winter
coat,      out of season
standing gawky
and graceful like little dancer, 14 yo
creeping along, cross-legged as a vampiress

they will be
wild-haired in well kept soil.
histories, cleaner than they should be-
still mourning our lost autumnal,
we
skulkfully, drear around corners, peering downwards at that
which we want to scare us back

there might be
          things
just below the top layer
with teeth
we just can't help running our fingers through-
gut, twisting- hoping not to get
that
text
message.
that phone call. we know might come at any time. any minute now. at any hour of the night



//

and every **** is a good thing because it means
something
is still going on in there. some might say: the works, are still working
to some degree.
it's good
to be hot and wet inside.
it's like those hideous rain boots that didn't quite bend at the ankles - the
ones you hate until you don't have them ten years later.
it's like that haircut you had in middle school,
-the face of an ugly friend
-a sunflower pattern
-a blister you like to pick.
it's wonderful out there.
(i can't believe all the things that are still waiting to be wonderful.)

it's ******* you over like the memory of a 7th grade dance.
lissome where it hurts.
dreaming like a hallway.running hot from throwing up over the railing.

chest-wet
and dripping into the ringing of my ears.
your slender limbs fold over themselves for convenient storage.
i'm
running out of options in the smooth outside of your fantasy
                                                                ­                                rings- many digits a-caged
i've fallen down before you.

stuck inside the wills before you touched your lips to my fingers.
i am repeating in your forests,
dark as they are.
before the world is lit,
i stumble, blind enough to the lake. and the
unshod calling that bids me
                                      to you.

and even now, as the grey waters wimp away into the other side of the opening - the frost that stays close to the dew          takes lives.