fairies ****,
-you said, pulling off their wings
and *



dripping in self-amethyst
you laid out your plans for armistice.lapping up the pools of it that had collected on the floor
it was splendid.

abraham ****** his daughter
and everybody liked it
i must admit
                                          it was kind of okay.
they bashed in her teeth
all because she liked it
it looked like fun
i wish i was one.             of them


god gave us the earth
           and it was okay

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

normcore kid- head like a buzzcut on

other people. teeth inside his mouth.  moth heavy to the tongue like wings on wet windows.  we won't help him- not knowing he's cool.

i will be filled by the roadside. each passenger holding me steady- aiming at the next letdown.
fingers right around each other.feet together in dumb attention-

it's like seasons (changing)
only more worthlestheyre just here for the
****



around

chybby
chxbby
chvbby
    >

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.

:


And all the fads function as the cyclic wheelings, more real than the lowest common denominators.
And that plain way serves only as an anchor to continuity, never as a true path for exclusive modeling.

There is only one truth
And it’s hard to
Remember

And the young
May dance
And sing

While [we] can.
  


This mean world makes
Meanies of us all

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
for you makes you real.
and breath puts your pieces together across the roof of my
mouth.
i could heave you
through another age of men if you were spent-
you fall apart where the tongue stops.

i can't.

so watch us through your bedroom windows,
cuff down the tops of your socks at the sound of our coming.
clamor to us.
weave
your wars.

With triplets
Drinks water from the
Faucet

There are things to care about
Left.

found by an ex roommate of a girlfriend in jewish brooklyn . transplanted from one major american city to the next .
someone else's divorce
slowly replacing someone else's family home.
i move in finally as she moves out in  l a y e r s ,  taking last her cat.

the squeaky floorboards still sound like her.

is performed on one’s self

now, that’s what i call alchemy vol. ||1iIiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii­iiiiiiiii
iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiu­uiiiiiiiiiiiiii

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

slow
but worth it

and everyone here wants to be a victim, wants to ****** themselves,
glorify their struggles- feel a hero in their own stories.
                                          but we are better off than that.
we give, take, ****, breathe life back into little girls drowned in the undertow of public pool drains.
we install washing machines into the room
with hoses 12" too short for a rational person to justify.
it is the art of necessity
not pride. or glimpses at judgement or relief
for which we do heroic things.

and so as the girl grows (to 16 or so), she murders her family on any tuesday night.
as the spin-cycle comes on,
as it rinses out the best artifacts of last sunday's diner from your best shirt.

Petri dish
Dead and cold under the little broken bulb in the silt-covered microscope

The hum of the refrigeration units
Suddenly cuts out
Leaving a deafening silence - even truer than before
The emergency power, now finally depleted
.

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

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

i vandalize the space between peachfuzz
hairs.
you

render me worthless and.clean

the saltpeter sea may yet swallow these
black-sailed ships

bleak obelisk .
reduce the risk.

and
swim.











[the power of i don’t know :  to the wielder, feels a burden - but serves as everything that keeps us from falling into Hate.]

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

i love you
egregiously.

Fighting to stay alive .

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.

from dishes and the dry air
as the light upon the world brightens:
so too, the shadows starken

take care of your things .

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)

.

//you've got to stay active.
she says, with eyes deeper than my own bronchitis voice .
shadowy in the way she stirs her cup
stepping over ice cubes with careful tiptoes of her
                                                           w r i s t.


she, there
[like light raking across the sides of pictureframes along the
hallway]
the edge of her jawline drips into my __ mug

steeped into dark


truth is i don't drink much coffee

the space between your eyes is a river of spoiled milk.
we check on it and promptly put it back in the fridge. we find it later, little
changed.
it is summer time in the dystopia.
lovers coddle each other inside the meniscus that grows tight around the dishes in the sink.
the trash doesn't get taken out for
days.

daddy loves you.

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

world swallower.

home
     is
     a dark forest
     by the sea
heroism
      has
      been bred out
our hearts
       are
       next :

.     humans
describing
      humans

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

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

Passion poltergeist

Music chamber.



Wanderer on the Road.

we skitter mouse-long into clanking radiator breaths,
tongue// wrapt around those teeth
                                    like the wet sweater sleeves heavy at your side.
sinking into  auditorium :  my warm blanket full of eyes,
the floorboards chewing on our soles.(as) i scuff your mute fingers
against my cathedral face  
"home" is quaking like stones w/o oceans,
cereal boxes with no prize inside,
like a sudden impulse to buzz your head
.
we cough up a wish, like a cat's superstition:
proto - prayer :
a mammal recognizing its own thoughts as a distinct
operation,
i correct the errors in your dividing cells like [tearing japanese paper.]
ourreligion is the opposite of problem solving.we disprove
ourselves/in order to   grow.
[and stagnate on faith alone]

i'd rather worship myself for knowing i could

we give thanks : for the grip that tears you away from my
handhold

supermarket endcap : ingredients for smores reminds of summervacation and being in thecottage and going to the store late for snacks, and the phone call that comes aboutthe dead friend

cooking in the august irradiation

growing .

pavement .
it’s spine is
black

like
mine.


stunted trees line the boundaries by the station
they will be cut down the next time someone decides to rearrange the
parking lot
out of
boredom

chatachakhkhla.ahtth* came the air from the throat you stepped on
and.both of
you.stayed in that place eternally.

as the dog grows big enough to steal the kitchen sponge right out of the sink,
as my arms grow thinner,
as the kimchi jar breaks against the inside of the trash
as the a/c sits tilted and dripping from the window onto the front lawn,

<a̶s̶> people are forgotten.
<strike> as <strike> mouths become softer.
<strike> as <strike> patches fill in.
a̶s̶

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

the tar -
the tip., slides in as the fingernails grow slowly outwards from the body
sun hits the vinyl siding of the houses across the street
raking sharp light across them like cliff faces in famous photographs
whose colors were only seen by ansel adams himself
chevron patterned blankets are folded over themselves in rosaceous limp hillsides

window . split

And me,the

my doki doki is

barking over like the skin of an ancient
creature dying.


and
i remove words from my keyboard's
autocompletion.
i feel decided upon (the worst possible
outcome)
i hold onto arrogance and we





[talk about how to get the real feelings that no one yet has managed to get out of their ******* heads and on to paper or phone screens or whatever.]

it's like understanding understanding
understanding understanding
understanding understanding
understanding understanding
understanding understanding
understanding understanding
understanding understanding
understanding understanding
understanding understanding
understanding understanding

Scale leaf daughter of deep grandmothers

I see your pride and honor

Do you not see the Earth?

these baby teeth in little (plastic) baggies
[somewhere in my parents' bedroom]

thedog they never met    ,    teething gently on my fingers and silver ring.
these mornings of getting up.
and days of doing all the daily things,

steak+egg breakfast
front porch clutter
sitting on the rug, looking through rubbermaid bins


          •old t-shirt
          •woolen socks
          •die-cast airplanes


dust in the air and [skin on my palms]
yellow film of last year's pollen over laundry baskets that are no longer mine

fills a void in you_
like the mist of dawn settling into
the untreated
wound of last night’s
moral dilemma.
the tendril fingers
of something older
than
domestic man.
it’s
war-moon waxing
like

a faltering empire /
like
an island
  amidst the heaving breaths.of a
dark ocean

FIGHT FIRE
WITH
FIRESIDE TALES

Looking through a stack of old Nat Geo’s found in an art room cabinet is
probably
one of the most sublime and authentic human experiences .

It,being untouched for so many years.
I, being the fist to cut it up for picture projects .
I remember
The
Transience .

And the dusty ficus
By the window nearest the closet in the further-back, less used part of the
space.

The very aesthetic that I’ve been searching for
Since

\\






///////
breath is stopped
and teeth, like glaciers_ carving scar-like channels  in the earth
  
know


i “I’m”
and i am saying too much

in answering, i hold us up from getting at the meat of it.

seat of it. sitting there,stinging me.
too afraid to get so    clear