the sailor-scout of your head against    m  i  n  e  
              fades into silhouette
(like something    good )
your brow  is beating better than the oscillating fan sounds
   that
we think of in moments like this..

learning that ******* is beautiful
when lies are shared

--the [****** ]in her breath presses skin outwards

.slipping off like goldtone wristwatch
like.flipping through polaroids of people you don't know anymore.


the best is over as the bra is unhooked and falls to the floor like a bad parachute
.
as if it could
slice through cities


you shoot a look as
bulma thighs bounce
like dinosaurs in the forest.
a long pink shirt
is enough to **** them

.reclaiming history through ******-death
one pink imprint left behind at a time.

focus on the clouds
it is better if we don't know what happens to the marks

you take the damp papertowel from your fist and spread it out on the table as if to undo the creases  
it will pull back to itself.
i notice you     finding the small scar beside my left eye
you will search for others(and find none)

it can be said: that we will forget about it tomorrow.
it won't be_
there are bigger things growling from underneath the chairlegs

you have that look in your eyes like the heat death of the universe
i can see it building out into an absolute
springtime.
i may not be able to understand
but i will see that look in your eyes
and know its like leaving home for good

my mind is an  a c c i d e n t

dna is disgusting.
my tasks are the  hand-me-downs of killers
the living are bandits for the lives of others_
i antiquate myself, stepping out into the dying light of moral argument.
we obsolesce against the lampshade of its horizon
nature is meant to be broken
and we are the breakers [as usual].


i am i
and you are youless.
springtime is stepping down

oh ryoko,
where did you go

novelty is a messy buisness

(when i was young)
she would take a pair of rolled up socks from my parents' room and
bring them around with her, in her mouth.
in the dead of night- or when she thought no-one was home,

she'd set them down on the bathroom floor and meow long, sad calls
(out)into the stillness

[i wondered if she remembered her mother.]

before i was born, my uncle found a kitten outside, meowing.
as i grew, i learned more from her than anyone.

(i am now older than she ever was,
which had seemed impossible at the time.    she had always seemed
infinite.)

their breath is pop music you can't have.
we know about it

the art is in the attitude. it's what's giving us away

our children will **** themselves in the hundreds of thousands
because of (what) you (are)
.and you will think of it only as cleaning up.

**natural selection favors
                         the beasts

sunday's midnight is driving_      
a  n  d    the trees are a wall of dark monsters, hemming us in.the
 road
wants to funnel forward. we will let it.    the
morning will wake early with us- even as dark as now .
there is a task wanting doers tonight.
a brother must be delivered        (         )   .
celebrations must be forgotten

sharing a subway car with neonazis
i hesitate-
having gotten out of work early for the first time
in a long time;
one ear left uncovered by the wireless headphones. on
the opposite side
the old man in the body cast and crutches
the young man., ,fat and bald.
talking about sin.
and what its like to be irish-catholic
in a boston that doesn't recognize them as god any more.

,covers the other ear after a few minutes to hear the full sound profile of my song/
i have decided that they have forfeit
their privilege to live

Using the cold wall and my bare feet to regulate body temperature. Bracing up against her.And retreating.  Thumbing through dry white pages of skin as a dull orange glow
gleams off the edge of   a     r  i  b.           There is a clinking from the other room. The phone charger is getting hot.
We dream of power plants buzzing  far away; skylines full of towers. Wire tracks leading off limitless unto the
unknowable.  Vast.  Thataway.          And there is something ready to
consume us out there. In the woods and meadows. In the irreverent
nation of pocket warmers and folded map laminated
fingers  



There's no such thing as Vermont. The land doesn't know that name.
It hears the rustle of my dead branches and gurgling of moist earth
churning thanklessly beneath last years canopy, and thinks to answer,  ,,home. Home. Home,,.


None taken

I drag your body from the room As the Bluetooth quietly disconnects from your favorite speaker, and the signal is left empty and waiting for instructions, not coming.

everytime you blink the river bank drowns another inch.
your shoe is gone
and it's coming for the rest of us.

it is happy with itself _

the wifi is out and we are being ****** away

what's my belly to you-
burning like the last look down a hallway.each bristle fighting the
skin to prove its toughness
each sunbeam sizzles another one to peachfuzz.
we are rocking back and forth all over it.
      my invitation is wasted on the waythe floorboards
creak
as the table gets leaned on- we feed on
  its knuckles are ruining it for me,            you are speechless.
i am speech
its tumbling       outside
                 there is a rumbling
the big shook daddy is coming down


life's a popularity contest and
its all about poptunes\

hey hey

**** the cool kids **** the losers **** the bus-rides, the train tracks
the way the ambulance swerves.
**** the gooey middle that   spills.as we bite
the chances to do the right thing
**** the black sweater hanging off your shoulder-bladed back

the lawn chairs on the sidewalk
the hair in your mouth

my lashes closing on your
instant
sticking together like
sleepiness.
in the blood of it
's hammered thumb-nails
beading like
bad trends

getting hot like a battery against our thigh(s).
choking.charging  
getting tangled in the wire    overnight


all woke atthe sound of [it]
[they are learning to be proud of it]
we are getting better and better every year

,smile like a jar full of recycled screws.his
lips are the sound of it being shaken
teeth flashing like rust against glass and tin
the chime (of it) cuts through the room like a textbook dropped behind you
suddenly
he dips his hat and stands there dumbly- smiling, smiling, smiling.


my fists are clenched
your dress is unfurled in a bedroom somewhere else
          your hair is dirtied by curls
i stomp impatiently outside.

it's raining       [way off, in a short story about corrugated roofs]

stinking like a wet jungle flower
******* balled up in her fingers

the
clouds swimming across the sun.  casting a thin iridescent shade
that exists only in the obligatory beach trip episode of any decent
anime.
you treat me like
       a
holo[graphic] card waiting to be found in a foil booster pack


.i am rotoscoped by your gaze



hum.
hum.
hum.

5 korean girls are the only onesstopped to help as the train pulls away

face like a litterbox.
in a shirt too big
smell of herbal insecticide hits like a ceiling fan collapsing on my
head.
it pushes through the soupy air
and just hangs there-          
.the drunk man gets up
          on his own, and slips his
shoes on

im ok he says to the water around his mouth.imok

.

its dancing around us as everyone rushes to beat eachother to the
bottom of the ramp.

the day is waiting to end

nobody knows the neighborhood like  the garbage man
hanging on by half a shoe to the back of the
truck
out there in the world, day to day. part of the universe.
probably says hi to people .
probably averts his eyes .
watches the girls jogging.
he's cooking all day in the sun
his
skin is
grass in the yard.
it's another heatwave out there and the garbage man is part of
the world.
he's probably out there (now)

help me baby, akira-kun shot me in the head.
i feel
beautiful.
and poor little midori's out there
bleeding in the car.

i want you to ask
me if i've done it
lately.i want to be
reminded that achievement is not permanent.
that precedent is not virtue
that i am failing if i m not
hateful of my own creation

you'll get sock-lost (baby))

just as the dogwood blossoms  
pulse against the ground.         y o u
**** the **** of the RØDE microphone
as the quiet sets in.
each pixel is humming for you
as you
sip it out of the ISO 6400 night.

what is digital is done.
and all is remembered.  
for once

we have place

your mouth is a wristwatch. i stare
impatiently. noticing strange things,
folding the corners of my page-wanting fingers towards you.
the breaths taken
say so much about the situation.
killing children in other counties
while we wait       
              _
my leftovers get shoved behind your
seat.
it takes a moment to stabilize.

with a haze that crosses me out like a lie on a check list
dawn walks into the room in post-rough-*******-aesthetic ,

packaged in japanese newspapers
that de-ray the windowbeams-
telescoping out into my space
and that of other hypnotees.  
dulcet to the sound of missile-fire
disperfection is her pose

and yet,
springtime is a shedable love

did you watch me tremble in the
airlock?
how i fidgited as the
moth that jumped out_when you touched your damp clothes hanging on the line.
whereas there is no moon
for the clouds that choke us out in this
age of
rats
scurrying about the yard.
i
remember
the way you twisted your lips down to me in the pause before
rain.

you offered it to me.

Oh, how you tasted like fibers.

like years of church functions
rocking back and forth on chair legs-
******* the back against the corner
shoelaces stained by the summertime.
lock limbs in search of abandoned public restrooms
windowlit  and forgotten planter pots

legs shaking inside.. for want of dog teeth
flaking off. white as oxidized lead
beds. graveyards
for
generations of guilt titrating out of the skin hips

    out
of us like sweat
that iso-stains
precipitate.
your
sashimi eyelids_
my
diorama for you.

say no and your breath paints a line down the road like fireworks set off the wrongway
you laugh
and in the distance, trees catch and the town is blanketed in dust.

i am stitching it into hemlock.

i am feeling it.     our      
                     chairlegs hit each
other on the way out,
wearing the corners down to blonde
                                 ,screaming
  as the birds    
     swarm.


my hands

the nape of her neck
smells of soda and leather  

she rubs her eyes.

my hands are raspy hanging around your breastbone as if it were
a
trashcan
from which i seek vantage, looking out across the grass for a
familiar     face.

bangs tumble over her brow like rain on a
tin roof-
a soldering joint that comes undone after years of dissatisfaction, a broken arm.i am left humming an asymmetrical tune.  no longer familiar with the haptic feedback of my palm against your jawline-

i
find you the way i find the tone of a bell shaking  in my belly.
inside there, you are
a chorus of drips from the faucet
                                      a room away.     
filling the basin.

around the circumference of her wrists are thin red indentations where elastic bands have been
removed.

i can trace like-marks around her waist.
there are pink shadows between her shoulderblades that
              show me
              where
to apply pressure.

i do so and crack our spines downwards


the hairs on the back of my forearm are taken between her lips and tongue
       so as to
     moisten them at the breach of her mouth

we modernize
and carcrash into eachother

we are there dangling on the ground

Like severed limbs
as
Uru as
Uuuuuu

lovemelike i looked the other way
i need this like i need family in nursing
homes.
out of season decorations on
the door.
thoughts about all the different
washingmachines i've used in my life
.
we could be comfortable again
sitting at the kitchen table.you could look at me while i eat

love me like the drawer where we put all of the refrigerator magnets when we got a new one.

get exited about little things.

i wear your name on my feet like a badge
of blisters
parts that peel sigh ballads of your heartbeat,
begging more steps to be taken in search of it,
haunting each heelfall with unheeded lessons about proper footwear.

my chain of milk jug lids stretches out across the parking lot-
wishing to find yours

putting colors together for fun    and   sanity

the new milk stains her blouse. ruining it for the evening
we push legitimacy at it like a warm bath

the wires outside dangling from dead trees
and under the ground, are
    bringing
    things
    places


we make a pact to explore the transhumanist desire of language to escape    now-space
our
less than opaque skin will hurt itself trying to be                                                    more

unu­sed, falling from what passes for grace,
it will be expectable but idiosyncratic to the
                                  genre.

she is a force of nature
you mistake her for ****-doll. but you will be corrected

her lips are shining like rug burn☆
and the typos become art.

the favors search, inching upwards, laughing as we find the best parts

the whites of her eyes are old masking tape yet
my
teeth are grinding like wet bark on the car door.
leaving paint behind to mark off where we have been_
in a gesture that says
we existed.

what
stands between
a man
and a plan_
crinckles amidst children.
their hands clench to it like funeral-
fingers around a showroom rosary.
no-one believes in it.

god is like paperwork

and you are tiptoing now.
but i can hear you
i am coughing up weatherstripping.
i shoot through the gap in the crowd☆
i am reprimanded over a can of soda
she is fuming.


my dress-watch is broken. with nothing to
look at, it turns.to remembering a certain pair
of shoes and an asian supermarket we
used to go
to.

you cover your head in dark laurels   pretending not to notice me.
hoarding gems between your fingertips like a dying rosary
unwinding the threads of it with malice
playing
neck twisting to the rhythm of a steady stalactite drip
caustic to the slow breath leaking from the vents. filling the room with dispassion.
masturbatory towards life
looking cool
in
a
pink sweatshirt

my name is shaking behind your bottom teeth. the cut of your lip drags it in and out slowly, drying along side it.
it's                                                alright                         though☆
                        ­            everybody
just wants to be massively popular

i see the dull ingots upon your brow. they,
meant for melting down into
treasures

have               been
laid to rest in a casual pause
the master never returns.the
line has ended
the people, vanished
and the mountain claims them back

the wind shakes the windows in their dressings like a child trying to wake its dead mother . you touch my face with the back of your hand, soft as the things that will be tanned in the slurry of our boiled- brains .      there is a clank from the cast radiator that     musters courage      up from floorboards below .   the mice run
scared.
your brow is deerskin that is pulled formfitting across my    dry,
      cupped           fingers
it wants small holes put in it as it                                      wears
suppler
into
a look
just
like kissing wool

the
heather inside the layers
that get put on-


wicking off like collagen

as the wintry madness finds us

morning breaks like kissing god with tongue her hairless legs are squirming under the earth the long wait is over our privilege is returned to us we pass it along like virulent youtube
comments

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

it's 2oclock in the morning on election night.i am driving over to the east end
projects with my mother in a blue minivan.

my nana
is having  another nervous breakdown. she's already called 911 twice about a rattle snake in her kitchen closet .
we get there to find a
peanutbutter-and-jelly sandwich cut into
three uneven peices
it's
wrapped in clear plastic,
set aside for a nonexistent maintenance man who fell out of the bathroom window
  while painting it.

we learn her very living daughter has died in a motor vehicle accident while in transit to see her husband, my grandfather- who died when i was in second grade.

she explains to me how she shut the closet door in such a fashion as to make the enclosed space entirely    airtight.
she
won't let us open the door.
she
laments the ****** of the snake by her
deeds.

the conversation turns to the positioning of
furniture.

we spend an hour and a half there.i
check the results on my
phone
i don't think i can go to thanksgiving
anymore.
a few neighborhoods away,my girlfriend is

crying
my nana        explains various recent births
in
the family that are untrue and
biologically
impossible.
most of the stories involve people  
supposedly
   next door.or in the basement

she talks about Elizabeth
who doesn't exist.

we go home after she finishes her peach
yogurt

i spend ten minutes outside my house , zigzagging around the block.

i catch my first snorlax
who
is my favorite pokemon.

it is a foolishly low cp

our bullet comes
propelled by the vengeful prayers of
innumerable
multitudes of living creatures contingent in
staying that way at great cost to us.
after all

might is right.

and
you
hold my head in your
arms

without fear     or a capacity to engage in complex love.
all emotions are to you,

like butter
on your

tongue



Evolution favors those that can't understand it

you have the personality of a typical youtube comment.
suicide
is going up

here,

this is the last Art
history forgets us.
as
years pass the word will be brought up from time to
time
but there will be no understanding of it

☆
against the ugly light of a brand new
day. we
take comfort in the bruises on our
future bellies
.
my youthquake comes to a theater near
you  
in whitebreakers of overeducated hooves blustering forward without pleasure

and.in recycled boyhoods bandaged together in
peanutbutterhaste

i can_


.
advocate for me on your sly plunge into
Helios
swanlike and stumbling.

solution is
calling


i am unmaker of your radiotheist fire.


wrapt  up in your eternal parka like fishing net for rare creatures.blushing


it brings peace as i eradicate all sense of fashion.pulling on the uneven strings of the hood like a
God
for better people (than you)

i discount you in this poem and amid other things where
1 1 7 55 47 40 30 10
.


i crack open the cocoons you retreat
to
for
respite
like a
pre-dinner platter.washing my hands
in the crumbs
of your
falling cornmeal
bones.

(as)you
get caught
in the depression left  in my wallet when i
get up

to walk away

trembling-
fabulous as
bowie
's
ghost


doing you the most glorious harm.

It* comes each time
a microbe dies.
every time a colony of mold is bleached out- at every whim of the
weekendwarrior that plucks
thedandelions.

mygenerational failure.loss of god_the next political disaster.
they get it out of their system like ****.in times of peace, etc.
the
end
of things will find us> and each consecutive *******-
around
ends a future that might have
been.each bite taken takes from something
else.
we think we are so different.we both deserve *end and deliverance
from it.

the end of all things happens in every hospital ward
every day.
every city.every cave. on every spoon in the restaurant.

It's
happening in your gut.

each time it's different. and still you worry about it like a
truth.
doom, you say.
well, it
is doom you want.
i could give it to you.              most
anyone could
if the conditions were
right
no.

not my style,
today.     you live.

somewhere in the universe (read:back
hallway) she covers her ****** and
pretends to be a brunette

that bird plays freejazz second only to ornette coleman
in the cool and dewy pre-dawn.
the wet, bounding notes
are
suspended from the hillside like -
flesh

i think future history will show PewdiePie as Marcel Duchamp
and the ideas curated will be
something.

.           , ...........                       .........
                          |                 |                  \
                           \                 /                      \    
                                                                ­      \
             /|      i need to make      |\             \
            / |   myself feel special  | \              \
.--------    |   regardless of the     |  \          ..,.      
               |   impact on others.  |
                |                                    |
                |                                   |
               |                                     |
               |                                   _.|