There will always be days where you are swimming in it. The air presses up against the undercooked  pancake of your ear with a pressure greater than air. Any of that ugly light that gets to your eyes is suspended in it
Like moths in cobwebs, and just as
happy
about it.

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.

i vandalize the space between peachfuzz
hairs.
you

render me worthless and.clean

i crawl on my belly against the grain of your breath.fading into your occult
outpeopled
by that ******-axe-murderer stare

i watch you ponder trecherously through
the irregular curly hairs on the nape of my
breast. pilgrim to
this
thin dying forest.we crack shins and
bounce off of eachother
into a cool
madness

the back
of your neck
brings grace to the bus window.the
pink

clogged pores of bad conditioner not fully
rinsed out
do it


each turn
. each bump in the road
each heaving breath.teeming with

innocent life
radiating with static energy_like my fingers glowing against my jeans.your eyes ride the
node

of its wave as they search there.not wanting god
or
pity
not wasting a drop of
fluid
starving out the other animals in competition.blessing
the passing scenery with threats of
annihilation

the last bit of salt
like skin on asphalt
cracked skull
broken rib
punctured lung
busted lip
but you're ok, right?

I have to remind myself things are changing around me
Even though I never leave this place
Even though these are the same walls always around me

The same riveters in the morning trying to close up the sky
With their rivet guns, their godly mission to blot out heaven
With blue tarps and steel
Building up the fourth wall around me and shutting up the sky

Today the air changed there was roofing material floating in the sky
pieces of apartment buildings flying around and leaves
The leaves, the trees were screaming,
It was like those home videos
of hurricanes

bone-colored clouds and the blurry static of rain like an old television
The rain passed quickly as it had come over me
Was it even there?
It was notable, I wrote a poem about it.

to think of people the weeks or months before they died
and what they were to you at that time
what they were to you
and then to think
what you are right now
at this moment
on a scale, how much you are trying for
you friends your family the stars the universe
who would be the one to think of how you were?