you ink whalebones in your smile, the sea-dark swarms
  up upon your palate
rushing back again in ruin
                           in a gulp
                           from deep tidal wants.

my hips lament your passing.as i wick away into the finger
numbing mist      lapping at your knuckles

you clothe your small shoulders
                                          with a shroud
every thread tries to hold on to the air that claims them
                                                                ­                      away
                                      ­       from brothers and sisters
                                             that all want the same for themselves.


they are vapid.


each breath is an arrowshaft cloven in two        off-mark

                                            ­    biting me.


i am not the currents dreaming of ******* you down
i am not the wind rubbing cuticles against your back
i am not draping you in
sawdust
.
as i press my thumbs up to ribs i dont
recognize
the feeling passes


dripping inside
presh ******* baby.

shaving w/ cold water a brittle lick rings off a 12" celestion     perspiration.ocean sounds are spitting on me Seattle is a nominal love .some kind of bounce  (they say) a blue zip cripples the skyline little armling lost tumbling errands away like missed alarms
a
flyboy jacket
raking dry lines away from wht you can stuff in your arms like a
jazz beat
wind spins complexcurrents around her wraparounds polarized to the smoke rings huffing from her nostrils  on cold bright
morning

breath is a glitch receiving old information incompatible with the peachfuzz burning  up with the o-zone
my skinny rocksalt eyes tire of eachother scraping in
the skin tightening over her forehead like a hide drum shrinking in the sun around it's ring
out of place.i stand cocked on the deck of the carrier wanting to  
annihilate  nations

.******-saurus

in my brows, your words are horse legs
  [i get caught between them]&
the wrinkles around your mouth
are a vague fantasy of being happier on a long opposite coast.

out in the indie paradise
the ferns get wet.

and all i can
ever only do is let myself stay  
dry

the fog rolls off (of) the pacific,

asking,   what
twang
brought me here


i am lying
and it is fine

she will ***** new
rings on the
coffee-
table in honor of me.

for
i am reeking like a moonbeam
i am hitting the dead grass.
through
a hole
in the boards

&
tucked up in a jacket sleeve is all my     lovliness.☆
my arms are less beautiful than yours so i pin them to the
outside,     hoping the wind will **** them.

i give them away

too many sleeves have become dear to me
it is
overwhelming.
i don't know how to be human-like




and big sur

has an appetite

that keeps
the flow steady and the combing, hot
amidst the dark of it all.


as a splash
as sea spittle
as fingers on furniture

you are are finding me

laying down
for life

knowing you.


like a patter
like chimes

she is here again,
in agony

kortirion breathes still ∆ though it be but in shallow waves pulled down through  uneroded sands / static filtering the gleaming lonley and untouched through its unknowable knowless pores

↗⤴⤵ out.

a fat clump of hair jabs at the left eye with the sharp wet tip of the curl as the head slides backwards and the neck, to the side

i receive the sticky bath of
new berlin.
its morning breath decays beside us in the black leather jackets
too small to do much warming

punkrock won't save us this
time

we
will be quaking
in our secondhand
boots

our antebellum is
ending.
go and repent to a human being instead