hangs rigid on its chain from the unstrained hand of the cam girl.
her
pose places iron
before
reality;

her teeth are white veneers over a sugar-ruined core.


she is the tortured priestess, hiding
in plain sight as
           a
           demon :


she, the healer shaman -
but her bones have been
    scattered                too                       far


for psychic-cartography
to reach




i, the last king of the
dead :


my lungs, full of
spit and
deadlocked breaths between these quiet actions in a
still quieter
  war


/fallen
  into the hive heart-center,
caught and drowning
in the



cistern of discontent  .

there is a term applied to religious
   paintings : mandorla which
literally means "almond" in italian.
it is an art history term referencing the shape
of the halo around
gods
and their mothers.

the word seeks to describe
the shape only.

w/out context
the almond shells in my hand .give way to
the metal hand-held ******* of years passing from
(those pictures)

i speak,but

my _breath.is caught in the jacket loose rubbing
elastic cuff
ribbing
stretching out
reminding
.hairs around the toes in the shower
stay behind. even under the sock
throughout the rest of the  work day
trill
evidence that memory connects to
event
[]][][[]0][]]
looking through my husked fingers to block
the light of its halo,
the sun bakes dark objects only
in winter
with home dragging along ;*****
in wool'fibers
home drug
like old music
unlike new music which is recorded
forever;
stomach pangs for sandwiches but the
mouth drags.along
      a l m o n d s .

and the songs are as hungry
as their calibers
allow.

It’s always trash day somewhere pt. 6

Like convection currents sitting atop pavement in July
Like white slices of paper dragging across the air between your words
You write me off like -
I think I can wash you from my fingernails but-

A new perspective on old music videos I always hated
Not that I like it now but just that I’m different.
I jot you down like
Growing up doesn’t stop
Like a fathers shirt in a picture

I bury my self in my head
Mouthshut and wanderlust wonderful
The wonder years
Are twisted


A couch in my mind
Plush and rough like old stuffed animals


The shore sheds me and sands me down to size
Like a frame on the side table I
Sit tilted to the sun of the window knowing only cool air from the vent while outside cooks the earth with grease and greasy hands
The diner fans push air but don’t let you breathe
Stuffy and heaving
Like
****

.


   the ripples in purple fabric wrapped loosely around your crumpled
Frame  :

The
small ghosts seeking refugee between each automated
Stitch  ,
Which
Creates basket-hole //
Blanket-sof,t cubby-units
For
Respite after wandering

Store me away there for
Later.    
   alligator .


Radiate
Out
From

The film under your
Eyelids / it’s
Unbroken meniscus
World ,

Hiding
Big creatures
There From the.   interruptive
  view of
Mankind  .




Prism  .
Gun.
You





   /and
other short stories about the
  making of the.universe

drumming out claval basins
in bruised thigh meat

in cuneiform
        claw marks down the
rib-collapse path(way)


embalmed in slurred
                wish
as the slush-rushed
                 outflows

        crystallize
       slikker than
           waning

stones
not lain to

carrion cairn
hillsides

food for glaciers
belly for trinkets .


_a clearing [mound] for mourning its unmourned nature

legs for
leg things. (and catching teeth.  .. ,..)

Wind tinted blue eyes sitting atop  the car radio
and scanning the Ch.s up and down in
search of
Seattle
Some lamb headed city
Dome knuckled in fear of
Wait times at the register
Wailing in the backseat forever

Keeping me sane between
insane-leaning morning lights

I fight to keep relevant  beside
Your suede smile

Amidst your
Life-like passion,
Daring to dance like sheets of ice skirting across the road rather than deeply, like beds made without love

Drastically reducing the recitation length of
Origin stories
Before they are told


Dreaming of sparrows where
Cooper’s hawks only - reel above sunroof skyline
(Owl-bellied in the breeze)

Restaurant restart until
We hone home.

beauty
beating
bruises
broadcasts
blood
yet boiling
births messy
growing hurts

stones are thrown
kisses given freely
age takes you
   or doesn’t .

the world is full of
                      dust

I am full of
         hope
and
           ****
but let’s focus on the hope
but let’s              dance .

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s breaK the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

but let’s break the trance

.bare ankles whurring deep inside the forest of night. in dark vale of
cambridge apartment.the window is stuck open; the handle is torn off. they are blowing smoke outside. the floor is wet.and churning below shadowy dionysian heads. muses: finger-laden in the gloaming caverns- are dying. there is a shout. there is a stringing out of things. there is a relative stillness.
happy in the cult of youth. ankles deep in the wastey-water

Long dying tubes of fluorescent light
Read like far away stars against the blackened concrete roof .

If I try, I can put my self outside - swimming in it
As we make blurred afterimages through other peoples’ windows

Jostling in our carpeted seats, inside the traffic’s galactic hum

We are
Left-overs
From the
big dig

To traveling pilgrims

And the exit

Loose teeth rattle like fireflies shaken up in the jar - concussed against the side of the glass

We drip juniper boughs into the river
like
Pastries in
Warm churning
Brew

keep pushing on ropes .   instead of untying our tongues
keep touching .   our sleeves to the table
like accidents in waiting
like breath on a bad neck  .i fight to remember     the touch of grass
i keep down
it's dust. it's talking behind the school yard
it is.
sunn beating down

my belief in you is a bar of soap
shrinking .   each time it gets wet

Yeah oh yah, but at least we stay clean

Do you consider us family?
We are together, as humans.

We carry immense burden and responsibility.

Do you respect living things?
Have you ever looked at the Earth and seen it?

In the game of life and death, which side are you really on?



Think hard before you answer
                                                       .

We imagine ourselves among the dead, the dying, and the monsters that inhabit those spaces
As a way to feign immortality
In that we are comforted in the temporary untouchability of our placement, just off screen.
Or
Rather
In the shrinking down, to the screen, itself.

there's sentient life in the bottom of your glass
you **** civilizations with [the swipe of] a sponge and look up as if nothing at all.

placing the demise of new taxonomic kingdoms onto the counter, you turn to me and repeat the question:

you pose your head like offering a nat-geo ****
aroundthe table
as something valuable
to be
venerated
the sliding screen lights up
offering a piece
of your brown skin

the leaflets are caught in folds that wont  
find any other place to open.

i would be okay if you stained my teeth
with anything
you
had
to offer

horse-whole in the water-
milky for you-
white as cuticles.

like the /**** me/ hum of the A/V cart
hooked up and left running
nothing.
stuffy
in the boxed we built (there)

.  []
in closed catacomb,

shunga-folds leaf into a starving candle
like offeringsas
officiates treacher towards the door


    ( )
    pooled-up thing at the lanky doorstep of
wildflowers;

   fern-moist breath through the hole in the
world.

   strangled gasp in the name of
historicity_











.

The difference between not having access
And not currently accessing :

We exist in the motion blur between moments

We bridge that gap every instant

Rather than be fused into paralysis within a caged world
We flutter through it all like
Glass breaking quietly


The machines do not have time.
Only a map of each moment .

We are
Striders between.

artificial doesn’t mean not Real .
passions are self-crafted.
we are self-drafted_

they are folded up like my gut,
the papers on the shelf
he reaches to pull them down, and i can feel them fluttering.

[my legs are together]
[my head is soft]
[i am a stain on the chair]

is a flyswatter kind of love.and i am the unread newspaper pages wrung out before the casualty of your tightening/grasp.

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.

//
The ladder of ribs
Up along the skeleton, there.
Bones made of shame (and milk-myth),bleaching under
Sun and
Moon.
//
Tanned
Leather pouch softens to the morning,
Fallen from where a neck used to
Bundle sinew and rumble out
Something made of air
//
Still stuck-frozen to the hard soil and leaf-
Litter .


Ah oom, ah oom .

everlasting.the
wellknown mystery at the
door

again

Can your mind conceive of it
Can your heart yearn for it
Can your hands make it
Real.

he was hit by a tour bus
dragged for a few dozen yards i think
then it rounded the corner and left
him there

thedriver didn't notice.
how could she, so high up there
hand on the PA
eyes on her passengers in the rearview :


•30 or so chinese students in some sort of program
•one fat and badly sunburnt family, the mother with a sloppy drawl
•two older russian men - beards both of them
• a reasonably well-adjusted looking couple with matching hats


meanwhile he there in the road, no longer wore a hat

the other pedestrians were not happy.
less grieved- but more just angry in that generic urban way
cursing and imagining that it could have been them
(no body uses the walk signal anymore)

my long belly fills   with air and moisture as the door closes
.pushing currents into the hallway_ disrupting dust and heat

     the hair on my limbs is matted and hidden
behind layers of world proofing,
about to be shed

Home.dead

the windows shake as I look through their ghost bodies
     the floor is silty and
     cold  t o  freshly shoeless feet

the lights come on and all is shown
and that’s it.

     the furniture will be rearranged tonight  .

mitochondrial moves
make out . dance steps
by the stairs

i push past your cell walls
grinding on something sticky ,
that
in that
basement brain
is
storing stories .

like
a promised need for later;
like a cupboard full of (china glass)
:lipids in love


performance .
red shoelaces .

concert for a clawfoot tub .
*** in the hair .

bath, breakfast, breaking ******* .

the split door
glazy
doe-eyed
as a []



standing on the train, no hand holds

zip ofthe doorline oppening like leggy
flow like salt and diamonds chiming intercom
chinese bell

inverted prism drops
shake loose
  from
   your
lens-curved glare//like
waylaid promises in an urban legendary
night

as
painted toes curl around their harpy-perch home.

as too, rests :
the
spit on your cheek and the
gun-metal.grey in my
hair


like cisterns without a
                           roof .

like the unnamed clouds
       behind constellations .


like a fool’s alchemic
                      love .

It’s eat or be eaten. Beat or be beaten. And I’m not on to lose
And I came out with a buzz/cut and a badge

Lookin to bash in some soft heads.
And later in bed, I look to the ceiling and think
how lucky I am to be good.

where your figure of a lotus is a crumpled up papertowel on the coffee
table
.last night’s dinner still evidenced across the smeared
glass
and all of the pencil marks of time
upon the marginalia of my
skin

pewter
clouds roll like the dark boiling
milk of
dead goddess *******//:
shimmering like
minnows.
like    Minoa .

across  the simmer-*** sky
tipping its lid
    to the
celestial
kitchen ;
stove-top, no longer watched.


as
the pulsing ergot castle looms
atop
its cliff face perch [it slumbers]

.to the captive dreamers
within its own
rotting
gate,

it
  stands
guard

against the blackened sea

     b e l o w .


AndSo

frominside
  the heaving molecules
gargles,a new lament

for courage, they cry out
as electrons are forcibly
stripped_

leaving art-****
nuclei
in voyeuristic
[ display]
for hungry
magnetic mouths   to
                   s p li t

.



.
hellhound famil

falling

cybergoth princess

Another
Hangs like the
Increasingly average protests of
Virtue in man’s sick pantheon

Just east of
Dawn’s gurgling last breath,
Choking in
The steaming *** load of
God_

Staining white,  these
Vast
Echo chambers of the cyber cathedral


No greater
Panopticon.

.

some call megod.          
my fingers are a housewife that wants you dead for wearing spaghetti straps
and a hairy chest.

she watches the news
as
her son and step-daughter **** in the basement.
they lean in place in nothing but those white cotton socks that get wet and sticky from the laundry detergent spilt across the rubber-
mat.

the *** stained push-up will get left down there.
the machine will tear it out of its wire armatures.

outside the sun is burning the lawn.

outside
the fat black flies are *******.
they drop, heavy- inside the windowsill
after 4 days of fury. the good fight
is lost.
their wings are sparkling

like gems.

and the whole of the world
shook
like a box of
vipers

it’s enough
to cut gemstones out of that look
in
your
broken eyes,

string a string of beads to prey
upon our
Hearts

a perilous mess in
matter-land

a clock to make you
mad

a time to enjoy the
art

I hope your blood vessels strangle you all at once from the inside, slowly crumpling you to the nothingness you are -

A biological trash compactor of cold, sweaty immolation.

As
All the lies you tell yourself are laid barefooted across the burning ashes of your self-ruined world.
As
Everything that you are disintegrates into the vile sludge of your failed human existence.

As
The violence of Man’s hatred turns on itself, for once.

I hope your god obliterates you -
Or someone else’s god -
Or I’d even settle for a Big Mac truck,
Or
A chicken bone in your

     Meatless
          throat

the wayback machine doesn’t keep them : a real, contemporary library of alexandria moment


not a product of the internet
a product of THAT internet

something that has been
both
       systematically expunged
and also simply left to decompose

digi-deathbed .
scrubadub head.

my little broken bread_

apps don’t **** people.
app developers **** people.


..