a dance of dizzy precision
vision clipped like the moon
with no hindsight, with  no foresight
with "business, as usual"
i cannot bear to swallow
another one of your highly reactive
chemical reactions that
bursts out of the stopper
into temporary moments of anger
reeling bait like words
hooked; gumless and bleeding with splintered steams, then,
you speak to me
of  treaties, of proceedings, of compromise
you do not what compromise is
i wonder into your open mouth
why you pull away first
you plead for being
drunk on inflation and an ego like a broken thumb
cause you was craving a drink and a hit
for no reason
sipping up liquor leaks from
the roof of your mouth
like raw running yolk
purging pallid spaces between the jeans and the belly
"business, as usual"
a business of
dropping numbers like flies
but it will not matter
the difference between 89 and 98
10 pounds
plummets into a mouth of some savage beast
who gnaws away at my bones ******* the meat
i stand calcified
without collagen,
inflexible
I will keep feeding the beast, today
Today, a kink in the rhythm of some machine
whirling, cranking, spitting out
blades of a tongue pressing stealing into inter
locking steel
Startled, I awake to “business, as usual”
i cannot flex steel tounge
i cannot push flesh down
i cannot comprehend a home that should be
how it could be how  
home stitched up home stitched scars
a home with the worst air pollution in new york
how this effects me, no
how you infected me, yes
now inhaling your ash to my lungs in pipe and in sky
drowning in layers of pollution in the sea of home
drowning in the sea of my mouth
drowning in a mouth like a seagull beak
plucking bread crumbs and scabs
almost drown when i was 10
in that great south bay, sleepy pollution
now, i turn 20 and i stand drowning in sea of the seedlings you planted
how could i be so moldable?
how home would infect then?
it would seep chest and toes and space above my brow
14 deep and 7 to disintegrate
home imprinted on skin now
today,today  i will feed the beast, somehow

I ran like a head on collision. A car crash which you don’t look away, like a bicycle crash flung over the handles. Pondering then, in that moment, why I didn’t wear a helmet. I guess I didn’t have a thought to think about that before crushing my skull on the pavement. I wonder in these instantaneous moments, why you pull away first, before knocking the teeth out. Gumless and bleeding with remorse. Things that have foresight, but maybe no hindsight: an example would be falling on airbags like a grenade. I read once, somewhere, that 290 people were killed in 28 years by airbags. I wonder then, before flying into the sediment, if they had the same feeling of regret (or maybe confusion) when something supposed to save them, killed them.

Flaccid airbags, then. 1 to 2% of frontal deaths are caused by un-deployed airbags. Try to imagine the surprise before hurling through your windshield: “but? my airbag?” We can never really rely on anything, I guess, except for at 12 to 18 miles the airbag might, should expand. Marshmallow cushion, cotton ball fuzz clings. A white christmas dressed in harlot red; a sin of plain bad luck for those people. For me, it’s ignorance
I should have worn my ******* helmet

The world is not
like me.
I am not
the world
who cradles, nurses, spreads,                                          
the hours fall upon the crux
of my elbow. She responds.
Sprays across,
a shade drawn over my eyes.
do not mimic me, mother
earth

Dreams peeled upwards like planted weeds
Grasping to touch a saffron sky
Straining under lasting languish

These dreams, it seems, awaken to the day,
To repulsion of repetitive repetition of tarred thoughts of
Repelling miles away from you
You who, although now, curl inward towards one another
-another moment of
disillusionment, thriving on salted skin

Bruised spaces
Break the backs of arching bridges:
it seems, these dreams of parking lot birds fly never over, never above.

Waken to the sound of drilling teeth
Awaken from an anesthesia slumber
Shaken senses of novocaine

Every morning
undresses and dresses the hum of
Slumbered thoughts,
Who murmur of arising amber sun

Exposing blushing crater sores caked in crashing silence, lay thick like Pompeii’s ash
Powder thrush molten on
seedlings, exposed
being, exposed
Here lies a moment, stained

beautiful thing
i say to my body
but my mouth speaks back to me with
crooked picture frames on walls, a fraction off beat
microscopic holes in my vernacular atmosphere
from one too many aerosol words,
of not thinking before spraying toxic

beautiful thing
i say to my body
but my thighs speak back to me with
tallies marked on skin
a sciatic nerve pleading for no more flexing of
car wheels tracks on waved sand

beautiful thing
i say to my body
but my feet speak back to me with
pinching plastic between nails hammered heavy into
figures blinking upon flat bottomed arches
pliant pleading for weightlessness

beautiful thing
i say to my body
but my stomach speaks to me by
stuffing breadcrumbs down a jagged trail
of the small intestine, appealing

beautiful thing
i scream to my body
but my mind speaks to me with
thinking thinking thinking
that thought has no weight
so weigh on me