Father time abuses his starry-eyed children until lips split,
bruises leave teachers feeling uncomfortable and unnecessarily involved.
Drink up the rocket fuel,
burning makes aches evaporate like **** on pavement,
amending memories until they are only fuzzy recordings of grinning cartoon cats.
Smiles are happy, so true,
but mirrors do not act on impulse so yours must require some more work,
mine was slashed on eons ago,
back when the dinosaurs were glorious and people walked on all fours.
Grindgrindgrind
gnashing teeth and splintering calcium,
he took note of the emotion,
accepted
and moved along,
unharmed by reality
too ignorant to accept absurdity.
A smart lad, curious
he built me a tug boat
to tug along the rivers of consciousness
though I'd rather the alternative
of sweet sweet bliss
and a fistful of throats.

well sponoza
what would you make of this?
granted
success is never guaranteed
but I think I deserve
some sort of prize
I tried, after all.
Maybe
trying harder
and relenquishing
everything
will bring about
more desirable results.
So what?
Lose control?
Could be interesting
or detrimental,
both
most likely,
need to indulge
in hedonism
or else
well, ****.

Macro-indulgence
can I help you
you seem lost,
not helpless
no, you're strong
you can make waves of clouds
wear any being out
of time
just want to help you
you know,
just want to make things better
so that my things
won't seem so bad

We sit
and chat
and my heart feels like an excited baby bird
grasping at regurgitated worm carcus.
We walk
your arm hairs graze my own follicles;
my belly oozes all kinds of warm lovely juices.
Is this love?
Inexperience?
Or am I resisting your prying affection?
You are much too nice
to be seen with the likes of me.

And it's pretty cool
when you're you and I'm me
though I don't know what to say
what could I?
I want to,
say anything at all
if it'll make me feel better about wasting your time,
making you dislike me more
each second that passes
I can only assume
that you are merely humoring my childish attempts and desires
though I'm not entirely sure what they even are,
what I want from you
what you mean
but it's still nice
very enjoyable
so it can be allowed to survive
at least for a while
until it dies
decomposes and I'm forced to face truths
the kinds I hate
though I also want them
because you are just far too intimidating
for me to be around for too long.

Still was the Earth
gravity gone, light splintered
where was the dream catcher?
Out in left field
drinking the moon's shine
that's probably why the light disappeared,
it was judgement day, you see,
and as per usual a certain someone was nervous
hysterical, really
a bit under the weather in the mind
but nobody was upset, only slightly concerned
too much feeling could hurt the heart
it's true you know
sometimes
it may be better to have a heart of rusty nails and staples
than gooey candy and cardiac tissue
but which feels better when pounding with love?
Sing a song of sweet serenity
fill your lungs with forever molecules
the Earth was still
and still was there life in the eyes of the dead.

Greens and blues and chills
what do you call
a person who is more than a person
less than a God
though relatively almost congruent
and just think
one day
it'll melt
a sweet, syruppy mess of delicate deliciousness
I can be
and he thinks it's lovely
not yet
but he will
I can teach him
it's worth it
I am
to be waited for
on
not hand and foot
maybe foot- in - mouth
if you think I'm so flexible
(he'll find out soon enough, that yes)
but it's all good
in the hood
work like a mother
paid like a cartel
laid like a brick
too sick
for emotional comfort
of sanity

Don't listen
to any words
that anyone says:
not mine
not theirs
we all lie,
it's a human ailment,
non-truth-telling
and you know what?
We're all diseased
sick with the thing
not wanting to be seen
for what we really are:
afraid
boring
unoriginal
maybe even
down right ugly
so don't listen
my dear
when they say a word
because it's not what you'll hear that matters,
it's inconsequential
it's what you see
what really happens
when lights go out
the curtains close
and the masks come off
it's then
when lines aren't being rehearsed
and the reality of the beast of the heart
seeps through
that you'll know.
You'll know
that I'm unworthy,
that everyone is
that we all ****
and blow
and show off
for no good reason other than selfishness
and I can only hope
that at the end of the day
the performances
when you see all that is
what it really is
you can accept
what I am
and be at peace with a world
that isn't perfect,
not good enough for you
but one that you're patient enough
to continue gracing
with your directions

I gotta feeling
and the only thing to make it feel real good
is a bit o' brickel
maybe a tower or two
I'm pretty picky when it comes to the Bahamas
can't tell me nothing
double negatives on photographs
sassyfrass
tea for a lifetime
all mine
gobbledy- gobble said the cow
he was tired, like usual
and like all animals he slept
and crept, past varying levels of waving sleepiness
all a dream
wanted to sing sing sing
a song
but give me a tie
a tulle skirt
chalk it up to bad caulking
walking for miles for thrills
just killing time
not brain cells
though they're practically suicidal anywhere
gimme gimme some of that
oh yeah,
and some pine tree air fresheners
smells like a sewer down and around
Lilly Petes won't miss a bunch of nothing
for nothing.

Our Father, who art in heaven
I have some confessions.
I am terrified.
Of what?
Everthing.
I break into plague-like bubonic hives when I worry about THE future, my future,
any future because it does not involve any of the nows.
Moments of newness and unclarity, of strangers and distant conversations of topics I know not of yet,
weeks in agony trying to earn money for rent,
days waiting for a sign, in the form of a plus or minus, to dictate whether or not
a parasite grows in my womb.
Father, I sin daily
for I am a glutton
in my eyes.
I see flaws in my appearence,
though no horrible disfigurements exist;
in my thoughts, this is even more unforgivable,
the invention of sorrows that are not mine,
the pitiful desire for perfection.
I feel I do not deserve the wonders that I have.
Grant me the ability to feel secure and grateful
rather than worthless and guilty.
Oh brother, woe is nobody
for all is too good to waste,
yet nearly impossible to entirely feel.

it's been done
sharing the fate
times and goes
like a campfire
smoky and wonderful
but it has to be washed out of hair
smell far too intrusive
exclusive sighs and thighs
couldn't stop you if I wanted to
but who would?
not even the saddest or the maddest,
the crazies or the foolish
it would be simply unethical
downright wrong
to deny such attempts
such thoughts
because in the beauty of beauty
it's the **** best

shun the non-believers,
what time is it anyway?
minty fresh
wind of frebreeze
like it in the ****
icy chills
down yo spine
winter in the mountains
frost bite in places
you didn't know you even
had to go there-
inevitable
to say the least,
I think you're pretty great,
at times,
when you treat me like a princess
and I pretend to be
unaware,
uninterested in being a thing of positivity,
not wanting to be any much of your thoughts,
separate
but really
I want to be there
in your mind
because deep down
I'm selfish like that
I want to control you
but to maintain that status
of superior-
lord forbid
the crashing of humanity
that would occur
were I to be another's-
not part of my genetic makeup,
I don't even wear any-
au naturale-
I'm your kind of girl
and in a way
you're my kind
of destruction of ego

Fun costs too much money
just gimme a job
anything
watch yer kids
feed yer dogs
wipe ***** from floors
sell organs
pawn heirlooms and the clothes off me back
need some money honey
have a future
maybe, if I have some money
want a roof later on
even a tent will do
just need some *****, stupid
money.

Why, hell-oh Mr.Insecurity.
You look so attractive today,
much better than myself.
Your omniscient grip around my larynx is comforting,
you know,
comforting in the way that a tumor won't abandon you;
like a frenemy, a parasite,
feeding off of your good ideas and healthy tissues.

I love you
Mrs. Unknown Future.
Your surprises are so comical,
like a whimsical double homicide
and I am a mere rubber-necking piece of evidence
in your routine.

Dreary little Lonely comes along
stealing all the fun we weren't having.
Why must one be so selfish
with that which does not exist?
Not in spirit, nor in form,
not even in feeling or sound.
Just robbing one of the possibility of a maybe idea.
What if I wanted love?
Or a moment with the warmth of a grandma's homemade cookie.

You all rob me of the concepts I can not comprehend,
because i can not feel.
That is only a wish,
a lie,
because I do feel, too much,
but can not figure out
how to make you all leave me  a sane homosapien.

Mainly
I think it's silly
to walk on the ground
when there's a perfectly good sky
just across the way
and it's floor is softer
thinner
if you fall
you don't collapse
or break
you become
better

Said he couldn't take advantage
because his BAC wasn't quite as sky high
respectable
a gentleman I presume
assume
he doesn't care today
one way or the other
how things turned out
or didn't
can't blame him;
many people in the world,
each is just one more
holding them back from the others.

"I'm a big fan of the way you breathe," I said.
He smiled.
Anyone else would be taken aback and thrown my loneliness into my face.
"I appreciate the fact that you exist," I continued.
His eyes looked at my eyes, but that wasn't the whole story. Not quite.
Because once the delicious visual receptors in his gummy pink brain
receive my Natalie signal of recognition,
it's as if his linguistic region wants to talk to the operator in my linguistic region,
and they strike up a lovely lively convo
about colors, and the weather, and how **** fine the oxygen feels today.
He never says much
with his sounds or voice box,
maybe because his voice box is sore,
or maybe because he's embarrassed of his voice,
or maybe still because his neural impulses and chemical signals
can not be properly conveyed with the noises and syllabel patterns found in a human language.
I like to think
that his thinking is so complex yet pure and beautiful
that any other mind could not possibly comprehend or appreciate its magnitude.
I like to think that he has every answer to every inquisition ever;
he is omniscient. Other-worldy.
A religion in his own
who does not wish to save others but to merely observe, unbiasedly
and make me sink into the depths of admiration
and flood my bloodstream with oxytocin.
What a man.

There are instances of my brain exploding into millions of rubbery blobs of mush.
Sometimes my mind leaks through miniscule cracks in my skull
caused by incredulousness, or intensity,
or a milisecond of  thought that traveled far too close to the realm of insanity.
Blessed be he who can not think, for he can not feel frustrated.
He will not try, or object to the rules of laws of that which is taken for granted,
claimed to be known as fact
even though we all can see it's *******.
Once, I even died a little bit, seeing a bird floating in the sky,
because it was just too magnificent and startling a phenomenon to be handled lightly:
these miracles of nature that don't require formal lessons or user manuals printed in multiple languages.
Blow my mind, **** it real good and share a cig afterwards.
My cranium can handle enough
but not all
and it prefers the experience
of profound enlightenment.

Creamy and warm
your thoughts
like a swirl of make believe beauty
I wonder
do I fit into the equation?
That perfection of neural impulses
your mind
do I meet the requirements
to swim in your stream of consciousness
convulse to your heartbeat
love you
like you were
greater than yet equal to
me?
I wish I could answer for you
say "yes"
with more certainty on my lips
than moments I have spent
thinking, longing
for your reciprocated desire
not merely physical,
though that would be nice too,
but for your desire to know me
like you know of your own existence
and to continue wanting that knowledge
once it has been realized-
every day
every second
more and more
until we get love- filled aneurysms
slow and steady
becoming nothing
together.

Dahling you tease
you can't possibly be so innocent,
can you?
Those green eyes and lavish locks
oh girl you must have a closet full of rotting corpses,
wrought iron skeletons,
but no?
You don't put out?
You don't go down on the first date?
You don't even kiss?
Well little lady
I don't know whether to pity or help you
and your clean little ******
I bet their white, right?
You say you are only waiting,
only respecting yourself,
or are you afraid?
Too perfect to make a mistake with the wrong boy,
get a bad grade,
a blemish for not removing make up at night
let alone spend one with a male,
all sweaty and attractive, he probably has a tattoo
never been to church in years
but that turns you on right?
Maybe you should loosen up your chastity belt a bit
let the blood flow between your legs
let the possibilities of torrential disaster enter and intrigue,
but you can't do that
can you
control freak?
Can't be happy
only antiseptic and old
counting down the days until retirement
so you can look back and say
**** I never knew fun.

knights and *** holes-
engineers of our days
they are stupored little trains
can we get a round of applause
for all the little boys and girls
still brushing their teeth and bike chains
licking up snow from dumpsters
getting high on imagination-
that's what they're calling it these days-
my grandma once said
if it burns in the summer
it'll cry in the winter.
maybe she meant me.

"Let me be your home" she said
it's all she could offer,
just peace of mind and comfort of familiarity.
"Is the rent high?" he asked
joking, in a way,
also making her seem like she had a price to be haggled
they were in like
and liked things so.
Spaniards in space-
that's what these two were,
just a couple of conquistadors
navigating relationships and apartment listings
ended up in her heart
view of the lungs
things were good,
she made breakfast, he did dishes
they visited the brain every now and then
see the scenery
museum of neurons
they love that stuff
rightfully so
they lived quite happily ever after
in her heart
until the attack-
then things got weird,
but their love survived the paplitations and cholesterol
they could survive anything.

Heart beating like the RPM of a sleek **** racing car,
wubwubwubwub
drop the bass
my heart, with you
so fast it's still,
like zero degrees kelvin
and 100 degrees hot
in my pants.
Darling would it be obscene
if I told you that you make me scream?
In my dreams,
in my head
you and me for never dead.
Leaps of faith through hoops of fire don't amount to much my dear
unless you're scorched
charred
and blistered as a tender, succulent pig.
Weee weee weee
all the way home we sing
we dance
we drool and chain gang the whole lot of them to the wings of the pretty angel statues,
so rough and hard,
how do they fly?
But we do,
at any given moment, soaring and searching
and we tangle up the tarantulas in their trinity of turbulence
because my god we are for real.

No problems, just theories
and excuses both lame and creative
extravagance in rare form,
perfect, really
if you wish to boil down the exteriors and denature the proteins
fleshy and energized, totally organic
like a Tropicana Sunday
complete with yellow Voltswagons and STDs.
Why speak of such things?
Shock value isn't worth much,
just a fist in the ***
if that's what you're into
and even if you're not
(especially if you're not)
because then you can't appreciate a good smack when it's deserved
and you begin to feel lonely
like a kid who can do no wrong
so never enjoyed the beauty of time out
only the isolation of magnets on the refridgerator,
domesticity a promise but not an end
only the beginning, a cycle of strife that is fully necessary and advantageous
when placed on the plates of the right eating bunch,
and goodness it's a lovely night
because the stars are still shaped like those homely spoons and beasts
and all the world's at the feet of the manor's Lords and Ladies
such wonderfully pitiful people
though can't blame them for much
only for being so flea- bitten and haughty
when the serfs are just as alive.

So
you're a bad idea
in all ways
and it's true
I play a part
somewhat to blame
but let's just forget about that for a sec
because I want to remain
the good girl
innocent and pure of heart
all intentions correct
and yet
I want to be the bad one
that parents tell their kids
to avoid-
breathing the same air
will result in immediate need
of exercision-
I want your respect,
for you to be a gentleman
but maybe
I just think you're cute.

Voila!
A beautiful ******.
Watch the delicate movements;
the serenity of spirit,
the feminine grace in her gait.
She raises a glass of water to her thirsty head,
crystal coolness against youthful lips,
curious tongue.
Vital and charming, she eludes all hunters.
She outsmarts and outruns the vikings who wish
to steal her mojo, her soul.
They want to skin her,
to feel her pelt against bare, sweaty flesh;
they want to mount and stuff her
full of formaldehyde and polyester batting from Wal-Mart.
They want to lock this majestic, innocent creature
in a cell
without padding, only harsh, cold bars
and stare at her nakedness with crooked grins on grimey faces
and **** her of her will to be whole.
Even worse:
they want to love her,
to hold this creature's hands
and write intense poetry of devotion.
These lunatics want to love this poor, hideous beast
who does not want the attention.
She is a monster,
a ******* abbhorred abomination of existence,
and they wish to court her like a little lady.
Pristine. Pure.
But they are only seeing a siren, a mythical form
better left to starve on the jagged rocks of eternity
than to be admired and held in soothing arms.

It's worse to know
you're imprisoned
and to be aware of the world going on around you-
would rather be ignorant
of others' bliss
than fully conscious
of my self-inflicted unhappiness
and I know that I'm ******
up
out of luck
because if we make our own,
honey I don't have the skill,
can't allow myself freedom
for then
who would stop me?

Like is a "strong" word
like like like
but really
it isn't-
it's a weak way
to express
even weaker feelings
and you're even weaker
(like me)
to avoid said feelings,
thinking that they're "bad"
or "wrong"
or "evil,"
because you're "afraid"-
of what?
Of hurt?
Of being proven incorrect,
flawed
of having to have someone
to lean on
to show problems
to trust to accept
fully
ev
er
y
thing that's wrong
with you
?
It is a scary notion,
being left out in the ocean
of feelings felt but never spoken
and further ruined
by one who was believed
to be too worthy
to be safe.

Literally a perfect situation:
approach the stupid guy.
He's all alone and vulnerable and adorable
but what?
I just let my sorry excuse for confidence
slide away into the back row like the awkward teen I am
lurking, admiring from afar
obsessing like a **** starved weasel
with a pint of bacon fat
until my worry muscles are broken and ripped and sore and bleeding
and my brains must be bashed out with hammers to get rid of the suffering
the stupid, stupid thoughts and self-reproach
worth just measured by a stupid stupid boy's approval
or lack there of of caring.
How cute, my ignorance of importance
my value on externals
and stupid stupid desires
that are never going to happen,
and yes
I am ranting like a little girl in a diary
and yes
I am putting it all out for any unfortunate reader
and yes
I have zero *****.

Sliding a can of spray paint out of his mischeif backpack
finger tips began to sense things without touching
they knew they were about to vandalize
and the thought of beautiful work to be created made the nerves fly into a frenzy.
Rattling of  bearing, combining of paint and propellant
pink sneezes out of the nozzle in a wonderful mist smelling of dizzying chemicals
he waves his arm in an arc,
an ark to save a generation from corporate *******,
to eliminate the fraud of the men in suits who shave daily and drink coffee
this kid
wanted to revolt, not knowing repurcussions
or fearing concussions
only the humiliation of being held by the book of laws and treaties,
treating each night of debauchery as a dawn of ingenuity and won victories,
perplexion of the too-calm anarchy of day-to-day America
why wasn't everyone outraged?
Why weren't they naked and screaming and looting?
His thoughts were misconstrued by **** residue
cheap alcohol poisoning
he may as well have huffed the paint
then the cops came
"It's in my rights, I want my rights! I need my rights to write!"
Delirious, disgruntled
he'll tweet about this later,
his first run-in with The Fuzz
while defacing a preschool.

She spoke up in class
"Just why does this work?"
Peers giggled, such a nerd
wondering about things with her mind and her thoughts
"Good question," frazzled teacher replies
students make ****** jokes about student and frizzy-bearded teacher.
She couldn't get a guy her own age
her coldness gave males de-rections
but not the teacher, oh no
he loved her.
After classes, late at night
the two would walk the campus watching stars watching them
smiling, those stars giving the two permission to hold hands and give shy glances
darkness allowing the two to feel tickly inside and not feel guilt.
"This works like anything else: simply, once practiced enough."
Boys in the back row roll eyes, take notes, try to ignore the big-brained girl and her too-old boyfriend.
"Why don't you show me, then?" - met with surprise, looks from other students
discomfort rippling throughout the classroom
eyes looking at watches, the clock, cell phones
to decide how much longer the suffering of a publicly performed private romance must last
they weren't stupid kids
they just knew when they knew things
and kept questions to themselves.

Like this
like that
we go into the night
cold
it's like an invigoration
invitation
to be naughty
get drunk
and laugh
until the cops come
and then some more
at the misfortunes of us
and ours
take it like it's light
and easy
because at the end
it's the end
and tonight
is pretty ******* awesome

She liked Jim's Jam
so sweet and thick
it was like little lumps of heaven
on top of toast
or scones
warm and crispy
like logs in a fire
newts on a fume
charred and musky
she liked a lot about Jim-
his smile, his laugh
but not his sads
so really
she didn't like Jim
not all of him
but enough for some happies
yummy Jam
fires and smoke
hair like a wolf

kinda cool,
everything
not too shabby at all
maybe it's perfect
this whole whatever we all are
and nothing is truly awful
but unfortunate, at times
and pretty **** alright the rest
oh yeah
not horrible
simple really, if one can breathe
occassionally sleep
or not
too much greatness to observe
swerve the baysides
collect some efforts and shears
become air statues and memorials of testimonials of primative genius
mmhmm
downright loverly
splendid shining on
cathartic rhythms

After a few mental miles I was ready to begin.
He took my lips and pressed them to canvas,
leaving behind traces of a mouth that his opinion views as favorable.
The fishy-shaped imprints were soft, red,
and indicated a secret trace of envy.
May I always be your subject?
The focus of your artistic genius and creative drive.
I want to be the molecules in your juices that transfer your thoughts into motion
that makes the beautiful work.
Slick and thick
like blood or oil or ****** secretions
and swim like the dolphins at Sea World,
where we have never been but can only assume contains much majestic movements.
Your hands mold my being like clay,
as Prometheus had done, many years before.
I am your first.
(Though you are not mine)
I inspire the fire
and cause you to steal.
Naughty naughty boy,
your silly perfection makes my insides so tingly
like the sizzling of flaming flesh.
And I wouldn't want it any other way.

Now
what can happen
except ab-solute-ly anything?
Could maybe fly,
maybe see a coyote in the wild
stumble upon love
or make lust with a faceless nobody
who can be a somebody
for a while-
could camp out in a tree fort
for life
eat the continent of Africa,
it's well-seasoned,
could swim to Atlantis,
meet the emperor penguin of the Arctic
love it
become a hunter
leap from an aeroplane
tattoo purple ink all over my skin
then rip it off
only muscles
for climbing mountains-
can do anything
but what will I do
after all?

We have standards here,
no litter, eye sores
no bird feeders or
"off" colors-
you want a fence?
We can put that through to the HOA
get back to you in two years
I'm sure you'll still want it then.
You like cards?
We play and chat
like good little women,
eat sandwiches and the like
like our mothers did
back in the day
you know
when *** was a myth and the world was for only certain people-
you know
a time where the air was pure as bleach
but you'll fit in just fine,
we'll be good friends
follow our lead and you'll be a lady in no time.

As if the world were round
he drifts
floats around
no ties
not attatched
even to his body
he's too high
up
above it all
in others' eyes
he seems
unaware that he's all alone
that he isn't cared for,
that the day he dies
will be a day
and nothing more
but he does know
is all too aware
that he isn't loved,
that he is a living ghost
of sorts
kind of an alien, really
it's shocking
to look into his eyes
and see
the tragedy
of one pretending
that they don't care.

So what will I do
with a stupid little boy
who won't just think I'm great
when all I want
is to hold his hand?
He should know better,
that I don't just fall for just any old male,
may be attracted,
may even think they're cool,
want to do naughty things,
but to actually feel
that's a new one-
maybe he knows
that my heart feels like a pathetic mess
and gets embarrassingly excited when we speak,
maybe he is fully aware
of the effect he has on me,
how I want him to be happy,
want him to be near
want to sleep beside him
maybe I'm just getting a little ahead of myself,
maybe I only like his kind words and attention
and really
we would not work together at all-
but I don't care,
it feels too good to not want to pursue,
just wish I knew
and that it didn't matter
because there's millions of boys
some probably even better
but for right now
I'm trapped on this one
picking myself apart
hoping for some miracle moment
where he shows up with flowers
and some deep poetry ****
and I can be
like a little girl from the tv
beautiful and perfect
and the sun will set more beautifully than ever before.

Catawba, said the bird,
it grows like the mighty Canadians
and is perfect for teas
say what?
Like shrivled little ants on logs
the water left our bodies
sweat and evaporation
hard work made such events occur
toiling away
night and day
doing that **** we do
which is......
anyway.
One time I saw the sun come up
it sprang, so to speak
and on the peak of that afternoon
it fell down
but there was no moon
nope
just a blackness without stars
or light
just had to feel around with hands and sounds and smells
felt like an animal
heightend and feral
good time to be unseen
who knows what the birds would have thought
they were real animals
we were just the blinded re-enactors stumbling around
even though everything was as it had always been

Just a little kiss he said
His draped  arm around her shoulders squeezed , shlumping in towards her.
I don't know.....she said.
Her innocent wide eyes and tightly curled hair were frightened.
Come on, don't be a ***** he said,
eyes droopy, voice smelling condescending and aroused.
He tasted his lips before flashing his teeth.
Strong fingers locked into her pristinely wound tendrils
shoving a resisting skull towards his probing lips.
She tensed, squealed, tried to turn away
but he only pulled her closer like quick sand, or an anaconda.
His hand immediately rounded second base, clamping onto her tender ******* like a bear trap
before kneading them and moving to the hem of her blue dress.
She muffled a scream into his mouth, but the black hole just absorbed and incinerated the sound.
His hand travelled up her knee, to her thigh
which was soft, and clean.
He thought they probably smelled like Ivory soap and angel laughs.
The further north his hand travelled, the higher pitched the squeals became.
He wanted to experiment how far he needed to move until her voice became  audible only to dogs.
He smiled into her cheek
he was a glorious, powerful tiger and she was an unassuming gazelle with a limp.
Really, he was doing her a favor
ending her misery before someone less humane devoured her tragic beauty.
He bit her neck, rendering her paralyzed
with fear.
Come on, don't be such a ***** he said,
Nobody likes a *****.

His eyes do not register my being
but his mind is buzzing with my existence
I can tell
by the way he stares, stressed, forced into the distance with attention emphasized on peripheral vision.
Oh, I am right here
and he knows this
he is all too aware that I am wearing the pretty blue skirt today,
that the other young men are paying million dollar compliments
that are deposited into our little bank of wins and losses of humility,
one stab at his ego,
one illuminated point on the score board for my courage.
He pretends not to hear
my laugh
when his jaw tenses and he refuses to join this plane of energy
but rather pretends that he is in a dark, sound-proof cell
where he belongs
where I do not want him
because I get a sick little thrill,
a lurch in the sadistic region of my brain
to see him struggle so,
to witness a weakness in his steel, tough exterior.
You have a heart
and it is beautiful.
I want to share this sensitivity
but if you are incapable,
I would like to get a torturous, self-inflicted pleasure
at your lack of interest;
One deep, throbbing dagger in my tender, juicy heart
slow and painful
all for you, my dear.

Skin peels like an orange
a little less acidic
still tasty
does that make one a cannibal?
Or just able to appreciate a taste bud in bloom?
But for real now
show a guy a self-respecting time
and he calls you cool,
cool is cooler than a fool
maybe,
or maybe he wants to tear into your skin
and you want him to
so badly
but you can't be a lady and be a meal at the same time
right?
Baking in the sun
tender and browned
caramelized
wanting to be picked out of a boy's teeth later on
only a lonely little person
with false pride
a lovely mind
to some
to none
to maybe one
one day
anyway
it's an all you can eat buffet
you can be
if you're young and sweet
naive
willing and presented on a platter
plastered, stumbling, giggling
kissing necks, promising future rendezvous
another truth
there will be others
but really
why not just be devoured by the first,
first?

As a young gal I married a much older boy,
he was 8 and the love of my life.
Then we divorced when I met Nathaniel;
his blue eyes and love of trains were dreamy to say the least
we never spoke much though
the marriage was unrequitted.
Today I love only writing
people are too animal to keep commitments,
they must eat and hunt and reproduce to repopulate
words simply listen and convey
can be flaky at times when there isn't a word to describe an idea
but at the end of the day
words will not die
unless they are latin
and when enough are written
you will never feel lonliness or discomfort
but only inner peace and relief.

Quad-
relatteral
interspatial
species
journey to the center of
the quaking
in my tummy
rumbly
glass faces
melt to goo
milky substances
ethers in space
love this time of the year

just wait here
buddy
mr officer is speaking now
and do you wonder
with all this first person second hand third generational
talk do you think
i am who i say i am?
i could be
a dog in a suit
barking but no one cares
a man in uniform
beats rock paper and scissors
to a point
where you think there'd be a problem
with society
and it's reasons for religion
like it's just a myth
this true reality
when it's obscured by the light of the supposed enlighted
and yeah
the rules will break
like a fracture in a cast
and they'll laugh
because it's embarrassing
to be human and all
when all else
appears giftly
magic
grab a mic this show's on the road

Every day at a quarter to three
Jasmine drinks her cup o' tea
she takes is slow
two lumps of sweet
and when she's done
falls to her feet
she prays and preys
for bugs on the ground
she licks them up
spits them around
she then gets up
walks to the door
steps outside
calls neighbors "******"
she's not so nice
though was once sweet
was probably all
the kitchen heat
gave her nausea
made her sick
made her marry
a stubborn *****
no air conditioning
not a soul to help
he beat her mercilessly
made her whelp
then she cried
she gave a shout
and knocked that ******
out.

it's so rainy
drippity drip
drop
like it's time to read a book
all day
in a day
and drink hot chocolate
and bake warm cookies
getting fat and lathargic
because what else is there to do
when everything is so perfect?

Sometimes, all the times
I pretend you are here
to wake up and smile the sun to life-
I imagine you beside me
close enough that I needn't move to kiss your hair
you're already there
eager to just be
with me
and the day
and though nothing else matters
not the space nor the place
but just your face
your hands and lips of course
it's nice to know
that you can take part
in experiencing everything with me
such as the ways
that air molecules fill our room
bursting with energy
and the pieces of furniture
are gathered round to see such a sight
two silly humans
becoming crazier and crazier
about each other
one another
and on those days we can't be together
I just remember
you are in this world existing so beautifully
and my mind may rest a bit more easily

at the time
were you aware
of what was to come?
did you suspect
predict
what one first encounter
would do to your brain?
had you known
way back when
when life was still worth living
what would happen
in the more present past?
did you know
back when sanity was sane
that you would become
the epiphany of the anti-you,
christ,
did you know
you'd become
too terrible for words
for wine
to be blessed with the wash of the poor
and if you knew
who I'd be
would you
should you
had you
did you
change your mind
change your heart
it's hedonistic ******* ways
or is the pain
too electrically wired
to make you otherwise?