special boy
worst messiah
greed beyond sacrifice

calling the beats
calling the sea-roughed wannabe sailor-types

calling the ham radio in your head
calling the used binoculars and the clear sky of a warm night’s impulse

calling down through this
anthropological migration pattern
for
the trading card
charm
of
new kinds of
Fake.

it’s beach day for the //bad.guys
you.          better
catch the shoreline before it’s sold away

rot-gut mornings and the exiled king of []
digging through grave-heaps
like
searching through
drawers
seeking:
seeking:


trading
  manacles
           for
madman's
  manacles

All paths lead to certain death
Do something good along the way

Grass strains are a treasure
traded for dullness
For a long time

Shaking like dry spiders with the cellar door opened
Waking up without .


With the
Personality of a carpeted bathroom

Pieces of sparrow against the tourist trap window
The laminated pages of trifold maps yellow asymmetrically in the sun
There as the light dances

The plastic palm
Not growing
Leaves


Irresolute

The

Ac bolted above the front door making a lot of racket but doing **** all otherwise

Alphabet rooms : each room one - two letters

All walls and ceilings covered in collage of illustrations and paraphernalia of terms starting with the letter

All themed around human sexuality

The hallways, small
And covered in monitors
Showing live feeds of camgirls
Housed in the units above

A deviant dictionary
A liminal space

She takes me there
There is another girl she knows in the hallway
She says hi
By

jokingly simulating an act on her in pantomime of what had played on the screen we just passed in the hall


Room stop
T

For thanks

is a scale-less basin for memory
sebum goblet . bedside cup.
eyes are a
worldnet for sweeping.the
lost-aloft
and wing fold/ed
:things

Catch.
Catch.
Store.

like bugs on the windshield //
like the pesticide-genocide that hides that
History
from clouding
our road-bright
viiew  ever again.

pretty
skin on the screen

pretty much ***** the real
away.

Dishrag.heart
Heads back,
Homeless.

i saw the bronze-age breathe
if,but for a moment-
as you

clove the earth
in search of

truth .


i saw the wet-winged
fall,
as the sun
dared us
down from
it
now .

The
New
Entitlement

Is to suffer no less than
Omniscience on
Demand


As wisdom
Wilts
At the
Root

That that they may become intelligent

The pen is mightier than the sword.

Yet, we find that the ink on the paycheck is mightier, still.

same old imagery
same old annoyance lv. threat
same old s-s-s-summertime
and the living
do so

the blue bamboo print on your white shirt
wrinkles me in to
home

The ultimate thing?


You use what ever you have
You do what ever you can
You artifice Art

No more -no less
Nothing better has ever been attempted.
Attempt it.
Every single second. The world needs it
Hard.

you find things
that are worth finding .

to
       happiness
is getting so
        sick
of sadness and
        
       anger
that you can’t
**** with them
any            more                                                        .

critter-lung .
critter-lung .
bouncing in the trashday sun
fill me
with.     something

the harm storm of california
and the titanium world is
beautiful

smiling back at you
with those tinted, 2-car garage eyes

and a view of
eternity, so long as you don’t
check
back later.


for those not yet gone numb
where the market demands it,
life is
__

the world
doesn’t like bukowski now.
they didn’t then either, but now they really
don’t.
it must be
all
pretty now

the dreams you have when you fall asleep (specifically) before the movie is over.
[like feeling safe enough to do so.]
like
winding up with cloud cover
and
summer, here already
like
no garden again this year -

waking on the couch
in the early morning
suddenly        and to
relative
                       silence





                                   .

My tongue is taken in yours
like an egg
Being dragged down into the lungs
Choking up
Promises,
As a car door slams
Outside;
As a screen door slides out of the way;
As a cloud passes over the yolk of the sun.






Dogs harm the silence, like I, your waist
Gripping too tightly
And letting
Shoes fall to the ground.

White on maple arms
Three black stripes on the side of branded
Synthetic upper
Style.
My hair
In your eyes .
And yours-
Between the gaps in couch
cushions_

i rake my hands across your heavy thing
you shake like eons in passing
you quake my heavy thing
you real my fake away

by the stories it’s people tell of the
past

Belly hairs
Stiffened outwards

Inside the deep wash of dry baseboard-heatered air


It’s good.
To think back sometimes


With waxy cuticles     against the chapped    
    lip’s
open
    curl

the sea needs the stone face of the shoreline to dash upon, else it won’t know how big it is

the existential violence
of closing the windows
.of
dumping the stale bed-side
water
into the sink
rather than the garden
.of
loving w/o finishing that long
process of loving adequately
or w/o adequate tempered
measure

wilt at the tolling of enough
bells

Faster than  the  speed of bad decision
The light bounces   off the hand and into eye s
When, the
Hand moves / it
Shutters all around
And encroaches.       Into

Billowing stacks of molecules , roaring up
With a  purposeless ,and burning
Desire.


Feed, heart. feed

you need to fight

have little things
that you move around

i can’t stress enough,
the importance of s t r etching

set.
i don’t want you to think that i am anything but the attic stairs.you will know me well by the dust and dryseasoned timbers.i hold your artifacts safe for later.short to long term storageit’s always a bad estimation until it all sets in.rinse and re-but.the birds are all car alarms around here_it’s their version of neoclassical heavymetal.i know you know

soot-footed,we careen off the edge of our sea.scrying corrective endeavors     [seraph - lensed ;feather-wet]
     as the spire
becomes a
  d  
  r
  i
  l
  l

clad in wonder
beside those iron lidded eyes :
blinking open like shifting tectonics
or
rusted gears
rumbling
below us

as we ready for the
p
l
u
n
g
e
.

it mattered.

the arrogance to act.
the hope without good reason .

the necessary prerequisites for
animation :

tilting at the gamma-wind, ye
terminal fingers (flowering buds) of the bloodline

homesick meteor,
deep with longing

heavy ,mineral heart

first, man imagined god_
then, he built it

with mother-minded longing .
from that lonely vantage in space

tie them to the
post of
* good god, it's america* .

shift.thrift.cut.grift.
eat them in the sight of

all.
\

it's plastic granite .
it's a brand new way:to
hate
     the
         night
                 away .


it's swaying in the
moonlight

in sight of
blight - and a regurgitated.Love


push.comes.to.shove
p-p-push.comes.to.shove

­push.comes.to.shove
p-p-push.comes.to.shove

push.comes.to.shove
­p-p-push.comes.to.shove

push.comes.to.shove
p-p-push.comes.to.sh­ove


push.comes.to.shove
p-p-push.comes.to.shove




push.comes.­to.shove
comes.to.push.comes.to.shove
comes.to.push.comes.to.shov­e
comes.to.push.comes.to.shove
comes.to.push.comes.to.shove
comes­.to.push.comes.to.shove

comes.to.push.comes.to.push.comes.to.pus­hcomes.to.shove

as the nostrils clear
           air and earth
as mouths loop around anthems without countries.
as we bloom inside.(not out)
(not ours) (not sweeping us up in it.)

we catch eachother in definitions only.
it's like trying to be grown .
tropical plants sit in clay pots by the window

+your rugburn smile breaks\      / open and spills out over
everyone.

+your fingernail teeth.wash me away

i felt it also.fainting also. fearing all the things that rat us out to the
u n i n d o c t r i n a t e d

that eat us out with one ear against the wall

that normie   ****.

that sunburn skin.that
tankline brea
k

i take

these pictures in my head instead of
you

i know that smell
he said
those tweety-bird treats from the ice-cream truck-
with those weird gumball eyes
i haven't thought about those since my little league days.
i always ******.

i was young for my grade and very thin and gangly-
except for that one year, when everyoneelse moved on and

me and that one other kid who was also young for our grade
stayed in the league.
we killed it that year
i'm not proud. but it was our chance to shine

it's amazing how these things can come back to you.

i said yeah

a bit later on my way to the train station, there was a homeless
woman
with oxygen tubes and a wheelchair
she was limp, directly in front of the door to the stairs, eyes
closed
baking in the (late day) sun

i didn't check if she was alive.
i thought about it though

the world has spat itself inside-out
in the ******-flash of the
claim.

piercing thin tunnels of
flesh
through less-than-best-laid plans,
as if
laying itself were
virtue enough to ****
by






as the dishes
drip

in failed echo
of
the
windowsill


and
i,

glittering fangface
upon the instant spell
of


opportunistic .
encompassure .

And what I have seen is that it is always exactly what it has always looked like

Gut get good and go do some
We need it.

i am not that kite

a cosmic message in a bottle:
and all its ever been is the same as now .
all mythos and religion;
all cult kingdoms; all god-kings

it’s not about what’s out there-
it’s about what’s in here that we’re trying to save.

The spermicide in your voice
The sink drain spinning
     .After much coaxing


The hair clumps climbing in bromine drips

As the acid burnt label’s yellowing edge
Waits for  further  corrosion  in the cabinet

As we seek to photosynthesize.  Into greater     limbs reaching

We shed the jitters

Humble before the promise of our own smallness

We feel the growth in our bones.

Thin.

Not yet as a door.

Not as an ear.

Not yet as a scar.

Not yet as a shadow.

Not yet as a self.

Yet.

Yet.

The ebbing

Of your eager look

As we roll our eyes,

And are no longer noticed by each other’s fingertips.