alabama sun, it's almost hot here in a sad soggy way
i knew a kid in california who lost all her teeth on a pink plastic skateboard (we were all carrying garbage bags filled with computer cables and ipods and cube-shaped monitors)
there was a girl in england somewhere, too, she was bright bright navy blue and i couldn't stop staring at her glittery skin. my grandma told me it was impolite so i decided to grow antenna eyes like those banana slugs clinging to my neighbor's window.

(i think i'll shave my head and rename myself after the moths that come out once the afterimages of the sun leave the corneas.)

she told me we could live in thailand one day, now look what you've done! i want to live again for the first time since my tiny cells began to divide!

there is ice cream in your hair again, it's strawberry like last summer and pink like broken plastic
there was a pretty boy on 38th street, he made me laugh because i used to think i could only love a six-petaled rose or a green garbage truck. but there he was & i think i might grow old
you hate when i complain, don't you, but that's okay because she'll always kind of make me want to die, or move to venice. either way i wouldn't get to see you again & i guess that's supposed to be sad.

hey isaac, it's good to have you back. i think we both changed a lot, you're a little dizzier now and im a lot less purple. i still can't give you my address because they repainted the old house. isaac, it's such an ugly shade of (beige?) now- it makes me want to forget the last four years. they cut down the juniper trees, too, i saw the dead flowers and i didn't cry
i don't think ill ever grow out of the shower or the floorboards. ill sit here forever, waiting for cement blocks & burning hair & suffocation

putrescence
bear the haunt of nothing
all fingers and teeth
down your neck
sister mary without her veil
narcogenic

i’m worn through my nails
i’m sick of everything.

There are good 'uns
and bad 'uns
some grizzled like Adams,
others as smooth as silk.

Walk with the wild one
who they have a file on
and always be the child
that you left in your youth.

Time
takes a mile as you
take every minute
and
at the end of the day
you may wonder
what's in it
for me?

Life's a Pandora's box
of high voltage shocks
interlaced with those
periods of charm.

Think on this as she blows you a kiss
has she taken account of the wind?

because we know the wind blows
but who knows where a kiss goes
when it veers off course?

There's **** on the floor of the Blue Line.
It's one in the afternoon,
Tuesday.

This is the poetry
I don't like writing.

About the Fight Club anarchism
without the sense of purpose.

I watch a man cry
over a woman's leftover Chipotle.

Eight feet away:
the passage of pills between palms.
I don't know the contents
any better than they do.

I keep my blind eye
and loose change.

I keep my middle class pride
safe for another day.