still _courses
//through we,the wet.
[though dry curses be cast upon us now]

i have put up facades
and feigned a greater confidence than i could ever possess,
i have touched the poverty in lines of poetry
and tasted the ******* of lame stanzas.

i have put less thought
into greater things.

absorbing the warmth of smiling
through ****** osmosis
and
keening away carbon in short- and shallow breaths


but
i have never seen again what transpired  
when i watched
the paper girl
fold herself into pieces of origami-like lovers as cold sheets of fragile fibers
carefully bent around
waxy parchment
she sailed around the room like a paper airplane,
thin, creased skymachine with wings bent back and nose weighted with all the promise
of an old penny she might have found in her pants pocket

[balance the world with your heart]

I have ancestors that I don’t know if I can even believe in

And I am told everyday that I don’t deserve to have a voice anymore because of the sins of my father
(How long must I reject myself?)

We are all, each one of us, directly from everything that has ever happened

We are all human family :

So why to we still punish through the generations.

Why do we not share our stories, in earnest.

Why can we not finally
Heal?

the radio that sits in your belly

fills you with ****.
uncomfortable,
in the yard



like the last information
taken from flesh burnt into the backs of
wallets and anything still stuck to the building itself
home at last.

And as with all virtues,
The fanboys **** it up.


And as we come almost to the close of the
Show,
We see the moral of the story a bit clearer
Now :

It was just that they wanted
Love and protection
Love and protection, and that is all.

And if it were offered sooner,
It needn’t have been demanded, as the
Curtains fall.


Until next stage it set.
Until the next audience, met.

Until the work is made,
Anew.

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

her voice is war
and i am the feet sweating in heavy combat boots
the cardoor slams outside the window
they leave without us

there are things in this room that can **** nations of artists

iloveyou.andgodisgoodandheavenisathing.allmydeadfriendsandfamilys­endmesignslikeflowersandbirds.andsoldiersarebraveandgood.weloveth­emtheymustallbegoodpeopleandimagoodpersonforsayingso.itssohardtod­otheressomeoneilove.andtheymademesadbutitsnotmyfaultatalloritsall­myfault.imaterriblepersonimagoodperson.imjustsosensitiveandmisund­erstoodandimsosmartandgood.andiwrotethisforyou.andiwrotethisinspi­teofyouiwrotethisforme.andimsogood.andtheresathingcalledinnocence­.childrenhaveitgodisgood.andthesun.andbirds.andloveisreal.fate.im­good.teacoffee.cigarettes.theocean.myfeelingsarebetterthanyours.w­eareallthesameeveryonedeservesachance.secondchancesnomoresecondch­ances.iloveyou.moonlightstardustwearethemilkyway.rhymescemesbutte­rfliesinmystomach.hishandonthecock.andgodisgood.andthereisanetern­alobjectivetruth.andsex.andshefeeltoearthwithahammerthroughherhea­dandhertitsoutpraisingnothingbutthesounditmade

you say to me that the stars
are out
tonight .
after years of
hiding

i watch and am
blinded by pure
glow

b ronze  a ge
morality

I feel like humanity is loosing a war that’s not even being
Fought

b ronze  a ge

gone alchemic .
plasma fiat .
foundries of blue-white light .

Taking stock
And making judgment calls,
All.

We are that chemical burn in the world .
Monster in the woods .
Sober-suited in the mad house .

Dream/drag

Middletide.Equinox

and by the way
there are flies in the basement,
no doubt, the
result of passionless blood-letting and
christ-sharp animalistic screams (that scatter across places)
where ingrown genital hairs take presidence over ionized howls of ecstasy-
where flies buzz around and die, worshiping the patchwork
row of halogen lamps
that get so hot as to scorch the hairy legs that spread apart wide just to touch the
sacred flesh of incandescence
-these that ****** reckless photons into the tepid air like rotting meat
and wants them to **** the last drops of electromagnetic ******* from their poems of illumination.  
meanwhile
i can be found numbing myself into comfort and complacency-
the phosphenes of faustian inadequacy taxing my eyes
with the vaporous waking that seeps through the vacant-
but i knew it was real when you pulled down your tattered jeans, exposing your backside to my interpretations of perfection and
allowing me the liberty of *******.
i have seen you scream.
and breathed your sigh of servitude.
these wet ******* and the tangy juices of anticipation dripping down your thighs becomes reality
and reality consumes.
and the world becomes conscious awareness.
and there is nothing to be known except this.
alleviant zero of the cyclic
and the 60-cycle hum of stagnation-
frustration.
we know that tomorrow
the angel-headed hipsters
will be basking in the instagram-induced solar radiation,
supine on the neatly cut grass,
donning their leather jackets and skin-tight corduroys. thick-rimmed-plastic sunglasses
obscure their frail vision and allow them to distance themselves just enough from the sunsoaked oasis to call themselves "cool"
and i would hardly know to recognize you amongst the candorous chatter about humanity and the existence of love
and i would hardly know to call you god
nor to look you in the face and tell you to dream a thought unthreatened by sanity
or to bring you to tears by means of dexterity.
i like my body for what its worth
but i did not try to stop them when they bound and ***** the waitress.
i stood and watched as those gentle agnostics tore apart her lacy blouse
and pushed thumbtacks through her ******* just to watch her scream
and she liked it.
when they held onto her skeleton ribs and hipless hips
and she liked it,
they tasted the *** with cinnamon tongues,
received the grace of an angel as pierced ******* and clitoral stimulation
listless yelps filled the tender air like howling phantoms-
little ms. misanthropy
with her
disposable epiphany
self-proclaimed teenage sage
with mistakes to make her wise
i try not to understand
and then i dreamt of forgiveness.
my days of holding grudges and killing mice are over
and when we don’t kiss
i can smile.
and did you want me to define you through destruction?
-martyrdom and madness?
her bracelet and studded pieces to decorate
only obliteration of expectation
gives my finger the feel of tendinitis
i have come to love things less
how i long to just let bay, my leaning lip
my wrist bent back, asks, how much more can be done here?
i guess it's a little too late to walk away.
endless mind-numbing repetition,
was it for the retribution?
or perhaps reassurance or the infliction of pain.
misdirected meaning-
bluebirds.
and blue-black bruises on your arms.
wrinkles.
from falling feathers and
do you hear the echoes of chains rattling in the cellar,
or was it just a love song gone wrong
alivient zero.
why do we have to be beautiful rebels
we leaned to love with our shoes on.
listening to the stereo silence-  
runaway gems, poetic outcasts
leaderless young lovers
she was a young poet
but her tv ran out of new channels
idols were made here, dreams shattered, and promises left unbroken
but her *******, not left untouched

unblessed
i can taste it in your tears
i can hear it in your voice

bless these tiny fingertips and her lips are soft.
her skin is a whisper.
i will leave no inch of flesh-

unsacrificed.


her wounds bled with the words,

*you begin
to
understand-
all of me

howling loveless yelps into the corner of her eye while she's away,
some ghost of a neck-thin pulse.runs a chill down to her toes-
fingernails scraping good red lines down her arms

we stay up all night just to read you
you wear down your whetstones.
we stay up all night to hurt our eyes with bright bedside-

i wish i had a better word for you

a finger for a dead piece of glass
heads drifting side to side for insects caring down the sheets.
and on the wall there's light

but
these tongues you've had taste like old neighborhoods,
stolen shopping-carts sent through puddles that fill up the side streets,

dressing down to the sound of rain.

say no and your breath paints a line down the road like fireworks set off the wrongway
you laugh
and in the distance, trees catch and the town is blanketed in dust.

i am stitching it into hemlock.

i am feeling it.     our      
                     chairlegs hit each
other on the way out,
wearing the corners down to blonde
                                 ,screaming
  as the birds    
     swarm.


my hands

/




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

from within the serpent gut, have you seen the fangchain gnawed through -   as  
   if
they watched on, in [wolf-loose] wonder ?

rumbling down stone //
in radials.of cymatic displacement


how do we make it
right?

roaring now.

for
when it counts :

a
boy with one palm pressed up against the corner of each pew
kicking up into the
air,
flying for a fraction of a second _
looking down the aisle
and worrying
that he won’t know what to do with his hands when he gets to the
end

a
world made out of
itself ,
alone .

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

Forever yester-ling, we will not
Bathe above the sea -
Nor where the light spreads its long fingers in first inquiry of future mornings

The mountain’s root
Will be hollowed out before
We are found

And we shall drown in still tomorrows
Before
News of us comes


Silent, somewhere
Between the front facing earth
And the
Peridot      stew.

slow
but worth it

Crust like machinegun fire
Sending tremors through the hot
Night

I release the grip
If such is the
Desire

i don't know that i've ever said i love you to my father in my adult life just as he had told me once or twice a long time ago:
that he had not, to his father, until the literal death bed.
i hold no hatred
wasn't mistreated overmuch as a child or anything
my childhood was happy. though that might have proven the worst thing for me in how late i've been able to break from the ignorance and comfort of many things.

i know i was an arrogant little ****.
but i might have deserved some of the pride, certainly not all of it
much of it i have abandoned, perhaps, by becoming less like him.
he has always provided well
tried to support many endeavors as full as he could
even if he did not understand fully

often, maybe lived vicariously in things like the guitars that he probably wished he had been able to play.
i know the music he liked.
he is a leader.
in many ways.
my father always had a need for clear, masculine objectivity.
i've found it hard to communicate things of nuance to him.
there has always got to be a bad guy.

often we have really got along.
we've done things together many times.
helped each other.
share interests.
skills.
abilities.
stature (in some ways).

he often told me he loved me
dropping me off somewhere: school, even into college
i didn't know how to say it back.
i can tell that he was actively trying to correct a greatest regret of his life.
i knew that.
but still repeat it.
his father died about a year before i was born.
i never knew him.
when my grandmother was alive, she had often said i looked like him.
i crossed my long legs in the same way.
my father is a broader man
of stronger limb.
he provided
better
than his father.

he has a kindness in him.
he feels responsibilities for things
done what he could:
boy scout leader, (troop functionally disbanded soon after i left as far as i know )
mentor of highschool robotics team (still there even many years after i left. he might be holding on to something in the way of a need to be that kind of guiding force- and besides, my brother still goes and helps out there too)
there have been times i can almost trust in him.
but then he will do or say something
a joke about self-harm-
about a ******.
i get pulled back somewhere.

he is outgoing.
i am not by nature.
but the more outgoing i get, the less i am like him
except in the type of confidence that comes with deep voice and a large frame.

he is certainly not the worst from the type of politics he adheres to.
far from.
he recoils at much of the things that pollute or replace science in the minds of those that vote like him.
but yet there is something of the
specificity.
the patriotism.
the need to protect most, those and that which are similar-
above others.

life
is but a collection of things around a one.

i, eldest son of eldest son,
care little for precedent as a marker of worth.
and i think i can do more good
if i ever do anything at all.

i don't much care for religion and sports.

You say my name the way a bullet pronounces syllables in other people's mouths-passing through them on the way to profound exit into the air.
My
thoughts turn to you in the same afterwardly accompanying mess,knowing  
what has been
done.

decorating the tree
with
chemo fingernails(green) like
                                        fair.ies

circling around- laying[like the]
laurels on our heads. trashcan lids:
padding our ears like boxing gloves
love to tap the side of your.trialware
breathing.  my .     looks,brittle as hard
candiesshattering in our unleveled
jaw.lines hoops of you puff over myhome// chimney
tongue/ / . past unshoveled driveways
grassgrown and mowed down

months ago.

its going to be

(cleanlike lungs filling)
good as garden decorations
free as pulling quills from dogs' noses

      [untucking pictures from a shoebox in the closet when you're gone]

World shunt
Against the
Bile-hearted wearers of these ugly badges
Of different colors but same shapes

The godfearing and godless will **** you all the same.

sparks fly off the 3rd rail   .like
winking at the mole-men
          you tighten your belt and      lean a pink ear
on the wall

august comes and goes
in a hop-along head

clock-breath .heaving like the         earth
and dust in sunlight
\

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)

i can't.
when trimming the calico hairs on skinly jaw.
like trip-hop leaching out of your pearly *******:
like magic-jesus.
with porcelain around her
animal seeds.
where i can find:
the swirling of Listerine flushing down the side of your throat.
like swabbing for cells from the floor of your tongue

like swapping girls.
or
(like) picnicking       deep inside
flower-bait.blue
trilling Gatorade apology/  
simulating love.

and even now. inside the folds of dead house plants  
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

i am more perfect than camouflage
like pipilotti rist screaming her lungs to pale ribbons.
as kimono as Kiki was real
she- as brave as anything

i found it out.
as fragrant as
the deepest rooted thing-
blissfull as the afternoon.
as
red
as good cadmium.
and that is ******* red

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

no one will notice
but at the restaurant
pressure treated wood stuffed under her sweatshirt
her frame soaked up into my ribs
pushed together hard
like the bones in our hips against the seat
to feel her guttural pulse.
in the space we share-
dive into the slow-burn stove in her voice
a flashlight passing through the red edges between your fingers with your hand held against it.
catalytic cells in tiny metal boxes breathing on the back of you neck.
nothing left between us but our elbows on the polyurethane-killed table
nothing happens.

we imagine splashing our faces with cold water in claustrophobic places- under pressure- pushing down into submarine voyages-

we take our time-

we open up our faces to the sleepless weeks, lying on the floor to stretch our legs

there is want of words between us,
but languages can't do enough to satisfy us
and looks can only hold us for so long.

and the contents of my head is old refrigerator meat-
leftovers found in the back after too long

[she doesn't  see.]

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

tin cup flowers
and cars slurring by
a broken man touch the earth,
sad bandana wrapt around his hand,
God gives him road.
the dirt believes in what his hand reminds
i feel the moon,
and taste the sky.
you're wind in the washboard,
swallows dipped in silver and *** sweep in and out of-
sparrows sparkling and-
kicking stones to the side.
******* pockets.
i fell off the whole universe   just for a moment.

no apologies

Like intertwined serpentine vertebrae : in quiet respite after swallowing the largest part of the world,
The limbs hang
From
The
White calcified
Remains

Of the
City.

A phantom of
All.



A cocked
Gun.

A careless
Bed.


The

Discarded
Cathedral ephemera
Within
Us
Now.




The end.of a
Long
Song.

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:

The truth.
Fight injustice.

Stand up for what you truly believe in - no matter how big, or how small

Let’s try it again, but mean it this time.




                  don’t let the bad guys win…

feel feel think
feel feel bite

i saw the greater part of creation succumb to the piracy of numbness-
the nimbus rage of torpedo cigars blowing blue-grey smoke into the dark lashes of love-struck little *****-
thirsty angels with tangled curls of hair bashing their heads against bathroom walls
screaming under their breath,  not enough.
i saw the green plastic- and her orange eyes
and the soap-bubbles on the sidewalk
and the soap frothing all over the sidewalk
and the glass that took off like pristine bullets in every direction
and-
blood running over the ***-covered lip of the curb, flowing into the street-
down to the drain, dripping into the hungry orifices of the big metal grate
into sewer pipe salvation-
destination unhindered by your humanity.
god, this must be insanity
and not even the good kind.
but
let's go watch the fire-works up on the roof-
crawl out the attic window
i let you go first to watch the electric calico
trickle down your legs like a promise.
i like the birds that fly in and out of your hair-
the handkerchief at your hip,
i like the crazy and the cool-
the too cute for comfort
and the fake angsty danger of your darkside.
like morphine-
the band or the drug?
you're ironically detached
with your semi-satanic languidity-
and overdue serenity
[i got a few overdue books at the library.]
[they closed the library a long time ago.]
i like to play catch with your presence-
our eyes with the back-and-forth,
the half-sent glances when we think the other isn't looking.
but we were always looking-
or at least i was always looking at you.
i could see half inside of you.
you were always half-naked-
in the scanty rags of the latest fashion.
when you breathed it was like nectarine noises-
and muffled yelps of love.
i watched your shirt move up and down on your chest
and told you about "never knows best"
it seems
i've seen the greater part of creation succumb to the supreme softness
and the best laid plans of motorcycles and mini-vans fall to pieces in my palms.
and you were the greatest creation i saw on the roof that day.
don't bat another pretty little eyelash at those tiny flashing pieces that go past like ricochets
it's just one more night of strangeness
and then you can be free again.

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

Heads adorned in plastic thorns
Teeter
Side-long across the neighbor’s dead
Lawn//:tongue-******* the anthill
Orifices.busy little workers for a
Long-dead god.


It’s an arms race out here
It’s race wars in their
Char broiled
Minds

It’s kindness, broken evermore .
Ring around the rosy-faced, ****-eating grins//:We all fall
Down.

That that they may become intelligent

whereas bronze will evoke more of girls on the beach than the perfect luster of a Chinese horse in the museum hallway near the back of the wing.

passive perception points out a small
visitor
just below the ***** window sill
as
dishes on the edge of biology are slogged through
the
[wet]
cerebrospinal tendrils  cling to the thin line of wall behind the pockmarked metal faucet
like
far-flung dendrite fingers cling to passing notions : such as a soft-focused background sensation of the clouds moving by you in the sky beyond the confines of this room.

dark opaque eyes
first two, at the end of each antennae like the body-plan of a Cambrian killer
then four more present from the amorphous body
bulging out like dive bladders filling up with ambience
tracking you like leaves do to the sun much slower
thin
not-bug appendages get too long to be normal
then even longer
it is reaching for you in the camp kitchen as
  y o u
back up to the light honeycomb
  door

he said closing his eyes,
         i feel like a tree clutching the rocks on some high place,
        weary of wind and winter
        and grey of wood.
        my tired fingers in the tired ground.
        heavy of lid and brow,
        remembering too many passings and partings in the dim of
        mornings.  
        and you will think if foolish but for the shrubbery fading
        and the bees not returning in the summer