mellow fed fun slide
help ***** slipped
slop neck chipped
huck gunk up through
dry and tired
mouths

like foretelling sirens for the twister
but, sister- it’s better that these blisters
from the still rot riots
from tired auxiliary habits
the meat ****** hammer table hungers
the hinges in the same doors like ugly, earworm-popsong-poisons
the scuffs in the rug
the runs in the tapestries torn down to wrap/lug loot from the pillaging of the castle sanctum
like these cold towers
like nights with out night watches
like a starless mind

like what he said about hemlock
like knocking down the mysteries hanging like static from around the corners of your eyefolds
like skinrolled maps to oblique stations of new and hipper torture device forms

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.

all the lines drawn down your arms-
the skin on your lips
desperate and parted for pine-needles and paper-dolls,
tear me around you
pass up opportunities in favor of numbness
shuffle around me like the wet stones under your feet,
you barefoot rain catcher-
moody making idols from chewing gum and string-
we've got you.
you've showed me the flesh under your fingernails
and we've got you pinned.
you scrape out paint from cracks in your hands under a two-skinned sun
and you're burning.
burning like a furnace full of hand-made nails-
like a black-tar roof-
like a ***** wrapt up in hot white sheets
what of it then,
your head, your hands, your hair in your face-
what of it for the fire that
need not, know not, will not what you want,
we will not
we.
rain in the shame of me
she ran after me
she drilled small pilot holes in my rib-cage and left me to fall asleep on the floor

glowbird knows ∆ he can make it, but
the sun drips warnings in front of
our reticle eyes   ø
           in the dusking smile
           you throw
it                                                   feels

I was wrong then. and now condemned to rewriting the same small repertoire.over and again
until they feel legitimized by their own histories-
I caught you off guard the other day. I told you about my dead ex-friend that I never hated as much as she wanted me to.
you told me it was fine.

starving, it swallows her offerings_
licking at wounds with certain intent
   as easily
as the lapping up of these gleaming beads      
         caught running, with
         equal      deliberation

1’ve been searching
In thrift stores and on eBay
For the kinds of windbreakers that were cool when I was
Little

I get to wear them now
And I know how

I pierced my ear a few years ago.
I did it myself with a hollow point needle
Slowly
But deliberately

And it was good.

I wear an earring everyday
To remind myself that I’m not
Dead
Yet. And it was something I wanted to do but never got around to it.

I’ve been
Making sure that I never stop
Growing.

I wilt like nothing  you’ve ever seen
In stagnation.

But I think the dog spit out her medicine tonight

I found it on the old hardwood
With tongue worn uncertainty

No dose must be better
Than double dose

With a custody so
Precious.

So I will hope she rests safely
Through the
Soft
Night.

And the late dinner can of minestrone in my
Grandmother’s last sauce ***
Smells like a lost thought of
Home

Home is
Something
I’ve been working very hard to
Dial-in.


My love
Is a pine-green toaster covered in
Crumbs.


And you
Are the bread I tried to bake from
Scratch
But I forgot to feed the wild yeast starter and landed with
Mold.

This time,
I will give
Thanks
To each pea and
Carrot
In my
Broth

cyber-book-burning on both sides.
when did erasure start passing as
love

pulling hair out of parted lips like charming serpents from
        wet reeds
  open. <laying>
hernecktwistsdown

and stains me       
         .
our hands
are

dropped bread_dog-natured
and slow.breath
i am dull hammerhead  to your
nail-edge.
i am smoothed out by time and
b l o w s.
the sea knows my
stone(s).like i know your wrist
though i fray at the end of
your
twine-lined teeth:

i'm falling asleep. here, at the wound of your eyes    
and if frailty were a promise: i would have you now- in actual bed of
flowers.
unburdened by metaphor
and symbolism.
on our own terms.
as the afternoon
tone rings
they chime on me.and bells slur their vowels as we
push around
the heavy air trembling behind our swollen tongues.speaking
out loud-                    in deliverables
you.breathing happily at me      as if that were
good enough-
for anyone

odds are you getting these images they out so out so ready for bedbug burning scrubby shyness scruff of the same afterwardly word.  dismissingderby. they've regressed into serpentine shying. away . thumb shock.  don't shut up.  don't think.  don't front this.
I'm just now leaving the nursing home soon.

said Odysseus, “i was meant to be a
sailor.”

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 .

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

knees and knuckles
pink w/ youth and .   hurt
and isnt it good to know we can
still scrape something [good]

like bangs across our eyes. like pockets
being played with instead of
looking forward- face front
my eyes, lunge around- across
rays of dust._dead sharp floaters
in a sea of stuffy air

let me learn you like legs
(i notice) under my                         sweatshirt.
                                    pine green

do the jack-pines
know that they are going to die
when   the golf-course gets redone in the
spring?

do the amber utility lights know
the
fossil-records they foretell?


do the puddles count  the diamonds of glass
shimmer-trapped
in the
asphalt   there?

do the coyotes  call
eachother
by
name ?

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]

+




its
convenient. the way you stare back
+

i hold harnesses tied from knots of your clothing   . my
fingers are hemp
strands and
you              are weaving more

chordate . wet

dancing, evermingled with
[his enzymes]
you
swept ,,


you let me  past the corners of your hair.

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

Japanese beer in the snow

Kindness
Tolerates pain

There is no true discipline :
Learn everything
And use the best of
Each

Good luck.

Basking in the dead neutrino glow
Like forgotten serpents in the pit of
Dawn’s feeble attempt at breaking

A
Perpetual crepuscular
Homogeneity
Tucked in too tight at the bed-corners

Asphyxiating the
Sleeping
Beauty of

Mankind ,

A quiet
Thrill,

A peace
Broken by
Kinetic frenzy
Slowing
Down .

And you,
The
(uncertain) Cloud /
Grinding to a
Haunted
h a u l t .
h a l t .

_
the
      dogs roam around in the yard
(still)looking for you

they find nothing but eachother
                               and thats how.




the house plants are drying
                       or stay too wet


there's never any middle ground (with them).


you cease to be
today


like drying vowels out in my mouth before speaking.

++
like waking up with the window left open.

each wink you left behind
     tilts back to let light and air into the

throat.

have no heroes.
deceive your children.
teach dogma.
killing is okay if your cowboy hat is white

I am Dogma.
I am Poison.

I am "Please, Someone, tell me what to do!"

I am Newly Turned Earth.

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

im the cold thing
no van full of legs
no passed skin
  . v unfortunate

Man has his tools
Lion has his teeth
In the savanna
In the savanna

In the savanna of mankind

No one is stupid
And everyone knows just what
The other one
Has.

We are buried in their
Gardens .

We are wAnderers on the
Road.

.you are a slow burn at the bottom of an ancient crater_
a hole in the chain link fence.

i am the broken clasp of your necklace,
your
knees buckling at the sight of
the job.

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

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 .

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

//we trace over eachother’s outline in wild gestures:
taking measurements
      
trembling with bodies like shivering beds
          meatpalms up
          begging to receive
something in the invisible, irradiated dark

creases in the same giftwrapping bag that makes the rounds
    year after year
we shave off every last fiber
of our oldest tinder pile
in solemn observation for the
thumb on the cold glass
universe

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

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

[we live]
these
days
eyes, raw ringed: mauve.
dustcurtains. lung-still
and                 dry



cover gasping-
fingers sanded down, dusted away
to later be inlaid
with something
else.
grappling clever-
broken bird feet.
the gaping is wide enough down here
even
for you


wanting to be a victim of something good-
lapping up *** of(f) belly hair
entangled.

and

as every human speck
fights for selfpreservation- without clairvoyance or beauty.
as the mud pumps.
as carmen plays.
as we die again in less than convenient specificities.


we will be replaced.


like furniture.

and those who seek to optimize everything
right down the efficiency of shampoo in the shower-
will leave with nothing  
                           more than a clean head of hair


to fall from these, slowly
or quicker than that- depending on the mood of it. and things like
cancer.


and when the chemicals
find you
laying there alone. and sleepy
they will know to carry you outside into the yard. where the grass is
waiting
and the road is waiting
and the rain.
and the sound of cars.
and of   trees.

big-*******-trees.
roots gnarled meanly into the dark.rotty droppings of their boughs.
cold. mighty- dragging their bruisey knuckles against the
dirt
trees with ghosts
bigger than your thumbnails.
older than the grossest things in your
waste-basket.
tree-er than
tree.

and when the car swerves
and hits
i will be there.


sinking with you
into the the reservoir
doors closed.
belted.
and good


.but
i will be

and we
fall apart
don't speak
for days.


learn of the other too late.

the call to action :
like prehistory’s most compelling protagonists howling out from the austere tar pits in which they are mercifully entombed

/free my fossilized flesh!/
the carbonized ghosts clamor-
and we will .
we will choke out the whole of our stupefied brood with the breath of their ancient bowels respirating, anew
in ash and motion .
in the name of each family’s future

Power
is a trade.

yet
lambs and other extant specimens do not participate in  this same barter.

their deals are shorter and more sincere:
/ at least leave me the sky - /

/no./ the reanimated ancestral cloud billows,
/all is a dome, beyond which, none may gaze/

/ be still and pose gracefully within the god-dome of our love./

8 mouses high
i jump

you let it go to my head. like
hunger.
beside alligator jaws
[and just
          as
   simple]

beneath the weight of imaginary *******

mouth
dumb

filter sponge

you,
exposed gums.
tooth picker.
saline rinse.

like an oily thumb .tracing
pink lines across a bright white
leg
like a dry tiger.

like youth and destruction in-side an aging murderer's  head

                                               ­                        -like




                          and oh!
                           **here comes a tune fromlong ago

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

Yeah oh yah, but at least we stay clean

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

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.

|the porch door|
is not a set of words
it’s a thing
   a sound
of slamming shut
the rolled aluminum rattle
the smell of wind , maple buds , and
days that have beginnings and ends

i can see the grass
back when green was still a
color
i can hear the creaking piston-hinge
and
the
reckless
slam

of all the futures being
shaved  down
to the
core

||

you called me home
with an invitation
to
claw your body clean
apart .
“closer”, you smiled :
as i
came

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

to the

late stage coopt of corporate agile cultists,
usurpers of the diverse paths of our futures,

the human condition is
a
temporary
inconvenience

in pursuit of a new and truncated eternity


CLUTTERED rooms full of minimalist art-objects for the unconstituted mind

i caught your
              glance
like soap between the toes
and the ugly hairs wrapt around them-
half-way
to the drain

we breathed a bit.
i thought that you looked a little better than from before

success
is a measure
of pleasures

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