we must become our own warm ambience
and scratch the hardwood floors with our love
pushing across the
room

/




rays.thatbetray
the intentionality of
our days and all the tasks assigned therein

20 seconds of alarm.

it’s calling for the tepid disquiet of assimilation

it’s calling for pretenders to assemble in
the shadow of new thrones

it’s calling us by our names

in the language of it’s immeasurable, mylar breath

“Fuzz fuzz”
The old black sweatshirt
Came out of the donations bag,

At first just to reorganize.

There was a thin scent of the perfume she used to wear in high school.
And That was wild .

I had not thought about it
Much

It was ugly
But was once  comfortable _
It used to be mine
But then was only in my keeping

I can remember
Offering it
Sometimes
On cold summer nights.



The sweatshirt
Went back in the bag after some lint - rolling
And
Other deliberations.

I used to be young.

We were mostly
Happy.

the difference between an act of friendliness and an act of friendship.

sink-water upon my bristlerough  brow ,like deeply unearthed lime
weathered  to indistinguishable faulty
globes
precipitating across a.goblet-edge .a
rim-locked  look,
now
wet hair patted down
into model
behavior
and

situational sensation

all hungers, tempered
(the serpent slumbers after feasting upon the whole of the world)




[you’re wrong,
[i’m
[shivering   .

No good news is the news - and
The witches’ brew
Bubbles over
again

Flanger fire .
Dragon spire
Call me .crash me .cook me inside
And over and over, I rolled
Down the grassy hills. Down the dying dirt.
Down with man and his upheld promise
Breaking bread beside me
Bedtime brain rot binds me

Hold me. Hurt me. Hit me, hurry, with something good.
Or at least better
Than
it’s been

It’s crass enough out there
Without your green scaly eyes
Take some time. Prepare a surprise. Make me feel alive.

It’s about time for us to finally
explode.


It’s about time we took the *******
End their ****-eating grins

Skin head ****-faces must die

Kindness
Tolerates pain

on the authority of an open window to the driving rain .
dog heads stuck out and
biting at the
drops .

you scare me
in ways that
deserve our
wet fingers
finding each-
other in this

m u t u a l .
o b s e ssion

let them not
find ways to
fail  to  find
each - other
in the dark_













.

Dawn gurgles past the horizon somewhere
As the sparrow lays dying on the sidewalk
Waiting for the

Neighborhood stray to to find her.

I have seen their eyes :
Dying birds

They watch you

I don’t think it is quite “fear” there .
As death comes, their is a quiet acceptance to the light of dawn
And the promise of warmer pavement on the chilled and broken body
Before
Nothing

[the eyes watch with the same energy
As the sleepy dog curled up in the corner chair when you enter the room.
The eyes open to watch the rusting of bags while you search for lost keys
. But the dog does not stir much. Trusting
you. And being too tired to play
]

It is a casual thing
And nothing much else

That’s how it is with mornings.
The sun warms the pavement
And
Sometimes that’s
    Enough

Learn fitness
From the cyber goth cam girl yogis
With big dreams

31 is the new dead
I’ve had a glas of *****
And the only promise I’ll ever ask of you
Is to play iron and wine - trapeze *******
At my funeral if I die before you

P.S.
Promise 1.5 :
Slap anyone who is not listening and just talking, right in their useless open eyeballs

Until next time,
Signing out-

The bad good kid,
The one who almost found home

.(
(
swing like flower vines in the
sea-breeze face of the
cliffside

your hair
sells dancing glimpses of ancient
memory
there .

the shimmer-sailed ships
leave
the shore / /

it’s a tepid nectar
that now drips from these leather-winged amphora jars :

they circle, like harpies
down to us upon tumble-hot currents spinning off the face of the
earth




but there are subterranean cisterns
of something else

out there :


cool water
against us.


and my syrup-stuck lips are
dry
for
it.

You throw my shape on the ceiling and walls/
It’s a fury that burns with cascading light.
Jittering inside the rooms we fold together for each other

It’s quick and flash-like.
Striking often,
We are strobe centers for hot fingers of electricity searching outwards in molestation of the quiet august night.

Y

the undertow takes time to notice
as each washing pulse
whisks away
more [glamorous, radiating shoreline]



. h/e.


if we
shall remember
what has been robbed,
it may yet be        
     reclaimed

cradling a torn architectural drawing of the universe.
the sea spray can’t reach us here,
nor the rolling breath of the low clouds raking in and out of the dark-scaled pines atop the cliffs’ edge.
it’s a moonless night-world
at the brink of dissipation .

it’s a world-less willfulness that holds us back from restoring our sight-hounded hearts.

it’s a breakfast served up for something older than kindness,
we - the complimentary condiments of a finely set table for an ill pantheon.

the salt_white sun.like a flawed promise amidst the chalk.swath of a sky ,the dry cupric oxide around the circles of
city
eyes

a broken baby carriage under the train platform :
a husked substrate for the gathering
ice .

Hip space dog
Peanut butter days are here again.

I was one who thought he’d never let rust form on his nice pocket knife
But here I am- 30 lbs gained in a year and only use my leatherman for opening cans of chicken and tuna for the dog

Rust on blades for leaving in puddles by the kitchen sink

Forgetting to call friends

Being me-less and without laying hands on any thing real, these days


I used to spend all this time thinking about the things I would get, and take care of, and keep for the rest of my life.

Real permanent things.

Now I wonder

the road is blocked.
[temperature readout not responding]

foggy, light mist.
the upturned vehicle lays quietly under its long woven blanket of moss.the discarded mantle of each season’s worth of canopy cover_
restful,
like one single ***** glass left behind in the kitchen sink of a foreclosed family home .
violent, like the passage of time.

she’s steps out across the gravel in front of me,
crossing past my left shoulder’s grazing shove :
kneels down
and grabs at my belt.

despite the futures that we are said to be robbed of

one of us is a kite .
and the other, is a pile of jackets on the bed
in a memory about a family gathering.
//the ultimate goal of recycling remains
black plastic clothes .

shirtless shepherd, stormsail-hopeful
scumlove galaxies above to
sail
by

unodysseus,      i had
               known
               t h e n .

M.

Greendark vapor

Broken over
The body-of-Christ moon
In the sky above the soon-to-be old apartment .

I sit like dewless mornings amidst the
Eves
And the evening’s main event,

Disbelieving everything.


Thumb runway of the
Pit .
In your
Sunglasses
Smudge .a

Way of waking .up

And remember kids,
Only dead people can have acceptable ideas about the nature of our human lives.

There is an incredible somber
Poignancy in the phrase :
Don’t be a stranger

It is a plea upon the continual shaping world
And those who will remain within it
Bounds
For all time to
Come

The hungry wind prodding the meat on my bones to measure its tenderness
Tugging at my outer garments and tracing its icy fingers across the folds .and reaching further into my
(core)

is:
fingers through hair,
breath in the morning,
a good t-shirt.

where memory is safe,
the right sound-track,
a path.

and
there may yet be a world left to fill with
hope.

the gate, we find,
is left unguarded-as
you
trace out your
glances towards me like glancing blows from fangly dog-mouth
scraping :
up and down
these
tired thighs of
skin


and greedy hands, we find,
are easy to
guide

there
  and
Elsewhere.

what have you done

with your world in one hand and the worlds of others in the other
teach us something before the summer
drys up the river
and delivers us from our hearts

ringing in all new winters through brass hoops
on the old ride
wooden horse yelping towards its three
brothers .
a hidden sister
in the woods
in the woods
/

without, in the villages of the kingdom :
a
failed technocratic empire _
illusory knights and squires
go diving for **** fuzz
in a heartbeat
between your legs.
they beg.
but
torture is a twoletter word
i f
w e
b e
,and other sundries

a l l
t
he while ,
i hold harnesses out of your hipbones
like graveyards hold our families


and  

false fibers, like torn banners bind
us
through indecisions.and the glowering repose of all intimations

whereas
it’s always nasty
weather
     in the time of
Man.

Is a shattered cathedral  .

Through the dusty air, hot light
Skitters across the corpse-cool
Glass

In perfect, manicured
Disarray.

the knowledge in the world is meaningless
if not paired with action .
words suffice for action only insofar as they catalyze the words and actions of others .
that is the lesson : learned the hard way
as all lessons must be,if they are to be learned at all

lest lessons be lost to regurgitated.immolation

a single dog's whisker has been shed
take ten paces
take ten lives
sun is rising . all are fled

gulls rule the shoreline in nobility.
as we are all subjects to our surround -
sound - world
so too, must the place
         subject

we are that longrunning society of graverobbers
and with every stitch,we all amalgamate true horrors out of each other .emboldening the regurgitated fears of the dead and thedying.the salted roads,crisp up the cold and crystalline paths forward .beside your dehydrated, astronaut-food smile_and (never)dog-mother eyes
.i am the patina over all creased things
.i am the creases

where the self-contained creatures go to -
_
under the rug-shaped lash-lines blinking
dusty, with rashes made out of lifetimes in
fluctuation and
actuality.we sweep our history away in
little tidy circular brush
stokes
struck out against
the toothy
grin
of
these so-named

sick to death
of our sick hearts having been sentenced to death .
no fresh breath /
no love for flesh //
no hope for our souls to be laid to rest. ///

they
fill the
grail full of *** for future generations to
take some
m   o r e.


at the intersection without  
intercedence
full of
hope for this
holy war.


slip to cope through this
revolving door



—

hands of hate

those who seek to brand knowledge as private property
prioritize destruction above all else

do not let them

as a means by which our star-long horizon can be further darkened
—
nothing gets hidden in this seascape;
only more water added between
us.


we are counted on not being able discern the difference between swimming and  having been
swum through .
—

tidal pulses .
storm brow crinkling up, as the nostrils flare against the wind.
night-sail diadem , let loose from atop ill-begotten cedar mast .

shaking
shaking
shaking sea

we need
we feed

a shower, like a casting away of minuscule multitudes
singing along and misremembering the words
a dredge into origin
a deluge of removable things

a distorted reflection in the soap-****-nickel-alloy-plated places

a chance

brain bombs obliviate_all signs of life in the city sqs.as all god-oid methods live on as a convenientandeffectivethreat levied bysquabbling heirs to her cold multitude of rancid throne-rooms/do you want to survive?
        the slow-panting dog shadow leans in closer, still,
/learn to dance the night.  … .. ….. … .. .. .. .

sleeping predictably, the city is at last disemboweled in favor of a new and ****-less being -
   all parking spaces, finally free.

but understanding that doesn’t change how it feels.
all fads are
real

care or be cared through.