I think sometimes, about what it means to be transgender. I probe and probe for answers, because as the possibility for a new age of enlightenment and safety increases, the others want to know. I’ve come up with many answers, but I can hold to none. I don’t deserve to paint the definition of a culture with the limited experiences I’ve had. I don’t see myself in the transgender identified people allowed on television. I don’t see myself in the transgender identified people making news feeds and giving high profile interviews. And as my nation’s exposure to our culture increases, likely will their curiosity. Am I transgender? Do I have the right? I’ve heard doctors, psychiatrists, may refuse transgender patients access to hormone therapy based on how dedicated or convincing their portrayal of their identified gender. If you want to be a man or woman, you’ll have to look like the women and men on TV. If you want to be transgender, you’ll have to look like the trans identified people on TV. Every single one of us who has an active role as either participant or observer in our society is prey to the crisis of validity. Am I pretty enough? Am I strong enough? Am I brave enough? Mom enough? Dad enough? Competitive enough? Successful enough? Rich enough? **** enough? Pious enough? It never ends. We’re, as a nation of people, being crushed and compartmentalized by this ever present lens, looming over us, exploiting our weaknesses and fears so it may grow wider, and support itself as it follows us, seemingly forever into the future. And one of the worst fears this camera of existential torment exploits, in most of us every day, is, “Do I have a reflection?” “What does it look like?” “Do I look like me?” What does it mean to be transgender? I can’t get away from that question. But I don’t have an answer. There are varying degrees of anguish, depression, panic, anxiety, and other wonderful emotional states that creep up on you and breathe down your neck nearly every waking day. Absolute contempt for the lie of a life you’ve lived till now, and contempt for the fragments still stuck to you, in memories, attached to your body and mind. Fear of those in your own community who would purposefully humiliate, invalidate, or attack you, choosing their own universal moral code over the innate urge and capacity to support the health and continued well being of another human. A ******* neighbor. A ******* pupil. A ******* employee. A ******* sister, brother, son, daughter, mother, father, cousin, ******* blood. What is being transgender like? By my experiences, it’s just like being anyone else in the country. But with a lot more fear, death, exclusion and medication.

I hide mostly in confines now.
Not fearing death, but life.
Lone in the light I can manage from matches
and torches, paranoid and anxious.
Topside today, no home tomorrow.
Still I rise to see the sun.
Yank the chain tether to test for rust.
Wander into the wastes in search,
mostly of water, and then for trust.
It's simple enough with a gun.
I look East, but think twice and
travel to the West for the wind of peace.
In old buildings close to my bed and blankets,
I find a young boy with his sister, and while
she's older and dressed in hardened leather,
the clasp on her hip holster's shut tight.
They're looking for sustenance. I watch with
my eyes just over the window sill
as the two cling to each other
through the rooms.

They find nothing. Turning to what's left in their packs.
Cans of tuna. Pork and beans. Fumbling with
knives to stab through the shell.
Is it a good day to die?
I wonder,
thinking of the can opener
I found yesterday.

There's so much about the way leaves look.
Under light.
Wet with rain.
I seize up.
Memories.
Of service.
Rush into.
My safe space.
For all I've hardened is just a front.

The world around me casts its shadows over me.

Wanting it to be aware, the blemish on ***** flesh.

The wrench in the cogs.

Wrong. Displaced. Alien.

I am a danger in this place. All but eyes shrouded.

Staring longingly from the dark.

Knowing you see me.

Painted by numbers. With hate. With shame.

With strange curiosity of the other.

With understandable fear of loss.

Fear of alteration. The change of state.

I rumble alone, a calling out. Indistinct and alluring.

These words I speak and words I write, are for me.

I cannot be the me you see. This glass reflecting

me as a monster is weak when confronted.

In alleyways, with baseball bats. With knives.

Snide looks and textbook descriptions. Hurt,

maybe dead.

Though,

I still cannot be what you want me to be.

Sin at the edges. Revolution at the walls.

Only so long shall pass before we breathe

war cry deeply in our lungs.

And let it out.

Ohhh, Jokes,
I remember you, I remember hurt I should forget
but still and again it remains that I'm haunted

(deep breath)
(switch the needle)

...... ...... ......

God, electricity has never been so painful
as when it manifests in blue cords holding up your core
and doubled over the rail finding any way
to stay away from home,
it hits your **** like the arctic wind
before it shreds and embeds in your soul
Will. I ever. Be touched like I touch, or will I
shuffle through my time alive at Water Avenue?
Will. I ever. Be held as close as I hold, or will I
wander, wistful?

Fallout. Inbound. Reciprocation comes
arriving on highways that transport heavy arms
and ***** bombs. Take me where pavement
is miles away. Take me on.

Do you see my red as your words come out?

(I really don’t hope that you do, but I really hope you do)

Do you see the smile while I reach presence?

(I really don’t hope that you do, but I really hope that you do.)

Do you catch my chest double when in front of you breathing?

(a.round.u.)

I really don’t hope that you do, but I really hope that you do

feel the way I find lightness in your sentences while you

just speak about the day.

Do you feel my leg with conscious intent?

(I really hope you do but I know you wouldn’t mean that)

Do you touch me when you laugh for reason?

(I really hope you do, but I know you wouldn’t mean that, would you.)

Do your eyes remind me of mine or is love deceiving

(      me      ??      )

I really hope they do, but I know you wouldn’t mean that.

While I walk away

While I lie my head

While I wear - ily wake

(I find)

to find your face a hologram

My personality clashes with dude bros and neckbeards and meninists and radfems and sjws and trans-exclusionary feminists alike. It's like meeting someone who's in a constant state of aggression spike. That ****'s tiring. You're entitled to your identity as I am mine, but man. I'd hate to be 100% on. And someone hearing that can immediately identify that I'm only nearly 10% on. How the hell can we bridge this gap? I want to get to know you. How do we get closer? Can we get closer?

Will you whimper while you wait,
for me to save you?
Or will you make me?
You gotta' make me.

In my dreams I see the world I could have been
living in had I not been myself and I hate to
have to inform you but I do believe that this
body may be no more than a shell, inevitably
for our big potential nothing more than a cell,
not that it is, but if, then from within your jail

Will you whimper while you wait,
for me to save you?
Or will you make me?
You gotta' make me.

I wish that I, too, had cute pictures of you from the Summer

but the Summer it was cool to have a camera on ya phone,

I was flying solo, kicking rocks alone, rocks in my pocket broke

That rag dress, that head mess, I swear your hair made you look like a

puppy, I remember because on nights as sweet as this,

rain and wind kissin my fingertips throwing back beer on the balcony

my brain produces the chemical of unrequited love and

I’m transported to you wherever in time, without a vessel

Honeybee, I am the vessel that retains the best of you

in my pulse, and you as you stop believing, I believe in

I'm more than what you make of me.
For instance, you see flesh, when I'm stars.
You see stretch marks, I see scars that
explain well the path I've been on
With kindness, I'm blessed, even messed
up in the head, I am words that announce
my presence silent or out loud,
and I'm not at fault when you can't feel it and
listen. I'm queer, I'm proud, you write ******
on my face while you're looking down
on me but I've only got smiles when I look up.
You, are ******, beyond me, beyond belief,
so maybe this is my peace.

I’m not one to speak about my **** in past tense, man
I’m presently experiencing this seemingly neverending comedy
Where it’s a constant and uphill battle fighting off tragedy
Walk talk, carry a stick, but I got no equipment except my ****-**** *****,
Oh no, it gets me in trouble, trying to get paid minimum wage
is a struggle that gives me a headache, bro, how am I even supposed to make my dough — I wanna live that **** life, But the life that has brought me here has been to the co-op --
******* *****,
I’m not Laverne ***, I’ve been pinned in a corner forced to **** dem off, *** work a bright option in the sea of diseased folk who really don’t wanna see their covers thrown off of tv screens, developed a taste for the feeding now they don’t believe me when I stand up and I say, I represent. **** ***** you don’t look good, yo, punched out face and a voice too low. Yo, are you even trying?

Can you

hear me?

I never thought I’d be screaming, going back to you

And your displaced sacrilege

I believe that I can help, if you let my vision lead you on.

Sanity’s left through the window we left open

Nothing but misery breathing in,

as we drift, drifting over,

and over

everything but finding nothing shutting us in

to prevent our dissolution

Disease crept in and kept us from devotion

Never breaking but never living in

what you’d call close to real life

or real life

itself, I cannot tell across time’s definitions

so I come back to ask of you.

Can you

hear me?

I never thought I’d be screaming, going back to you

And your displaced sacrilege

Can you hear me?
Do you tremble while you wait
for the destined words to take you home?

I come from South of the border,
just South of Portland with a little West bend
not from the hills of the academic and domestic
Wake up at 1P, M in the morning
ash under my nails smelling errl in my nose hairs
"Hey do you think I could *** a smoke, bro?"
Sure my man I got a spare so don't fret, but I'm not a bro, though"
"For real?"
**** man, I run into you every day do I really have to do this every day?

Life like the industrial companies lining my streets
press and press and I press and I do it all again
but every step might not go forward, I keep
sayin I don't have the reserve to go on like this,
this ****'s burnin me before progress,
can I just make a little bit?
"No," says me, "but maybe you can next time."
Can I get out of bed at least?
"You know the rules," says me, "get to the car and the engine's running."
But man there's a lot of broken glass down there,
painful, diamond shards trailing in with the past down there.
Is this fair?
Okay, don't answer that.

Not raised by a ****-head, thank god, but neglected,
but kept safe in a home offering protection
Mother's broke and mi papi es a ghost
left to my lonesome devilish devices
look it's a **** **** with vicious collection
of debt and death-draw bridged in prevention by vices
smoke till I choke, kid, smoke while I toast
"I became someone so why couldn't you, too?"
****, kid, I just want to see the weekend,
Just want to see tomorrow,
Just want to wake up sometime

*** for me generally lives in one of two places, either the primal or the spiritual realm.

Primal *** is the *** I share with others because of our mutual, base level attraction, whether it’s in a smile, or a smell, a physical feature, or even something like a mannerism. You compel me, is what we’re saying, and our desire to learn each other is way way up there — though likely naked and on top of each other, wherever it may be.

Spiritual *** is the *** that happens where our entire lives cross and our minds collide and invite each other. What happens when our eyes tie together, dressed or bedded, sharing a look that says, “I know. Exactly.” What happens where words are few or many, and each one custom tailored, in willing wishes to reach specific ears clearly.

What happens under equalizing warm or cold wind in the snow or in the sand.

Unfrozen, surviving in miles of silent wasteland
Somehow risen from cold to my feet, but not breathing
Am I flawless that I drift so lightly with a Western wind?
Or so flawed that I don't admit I'm desperate for coming home
The final night with my elbows on the throne
Laughing over longing after end to the infinite.
Beheld well with the highest intention to flatter you
Maybe I'll die in laughter when you realize I invite you to bitterness,
brittleness to the shattering for which I'll want you close
Because with another's bloodstains I can live alone
Using what I've siphoned to make my ill-advised scratches on tablets on tabletops.

I've got a mark on my head from resting on the window
So high I can't control my skeleton
What am I good for?
Flies in my pockets and mind whirling through bounds
I believe for all my life, I've never heard the sound
They said,
"But what will you leave behind?" I guess I'm not afraid of death
I said,
"I'll leave behind love to the lives I was graced to touch."
I've got a mark on my skin for each time I find the blade
So lost to love that I migrate to pain
What am I good for?
Knives in my closet with blood let to loneliness
I believe for all my life, I've never heard the sound
They said,
"A permanent solution." But otherwise went their own.
I wrote,
"I'll leave behind the hate so that you may celebrate."

I've got a bag of nails and a mask upon my face
one extra for you and hammers for us two.
If you don't mind us taking turns, I know just the way to hell.
Maybe you don't believe in gods, but I believe they know us well.
Always laughing doubled over, watching from somewhere else.

It seems now, still, and into forever, meaning and being
arrive incorrectly, deciphered through perspective lacking

the cosmic kind of clarity you think we'd be preaching by now
but here I stand, represented by death and persecution,
******, abuse and defamation, stuck in limbo, curtains half-drawn
waiting to see if I'm one -- winding up just another number

Tell me, have you seen it?
Exposure in drip-drop?
Even though shown, so slightly shone, less than any other broadcast
Lasting less than any length of time divining prime time due process

Still we receive clapped hands and stop,
how could we dare intrude living rooms
and man caves, "Man, flip that tab back to Vine,
let me disintegrate." It seems I live to die in
higher percentage and end the show to
indignation. Happy Anniversary.

No parenthetical this time in my rhyme, I'll lie flat the baseline like, Here are my cards, bro. Take a look at them all, bro. Get started with just the light kinds of gospel like, Bro, did you know I got a **** down there? Taken aback you say, What? Bro, did you know I'm packing a tackle, though so modest in stature, bro, instead of a package I joke split/second to cope and still manage to crack a satanic smile as I call my most modest hose a gigantic, titanic ****?

Word. You got nice lips, still, though, how bout you look up and get down on me, yo? Word is that I handle it with alarming aplomb considering how I present myself to the world. So what I got a culturally appropriated slab of ink tattoo yo. Just a guy trying to get along with the little he's got, and then on top of that I like to slide my **** n stuff. How about me too? Cause I can get down on you if we both repeat **** like we believe it. You got *****, bam, and plump curved fat just as all the girls growing up had, fashionable hair and even a soft face. You, girl, I can bend you over. Sure, be glad to bend you over.

Rough riding baring face to the wind on highways
I never thought I would be here deciding
Do I believe in others' abilities enough to believe that they know me as
If they would know a human?
Get close, pry in, to my life,
you'll find a lion, lonely, dragging coats of molted skin
with wire stolen from her other lives,
the desperate lioness devours the food she can.

Oo, have I got a song for you. While you whittle away time learning to play instruments I've run the gun and figured how to inject my spirit in it. Has it been for you as easy to forget as it has been for me to leave the love where it belongs and move on with healthy hope, pelvis at the rope, grinding life into a pulp with each push and pull. The cold in memory for you serves as my instigation to remember you for warmth.

Life is just kitchen like it was before
Conversation runneth over,
Our glasses overfull with celebration
Why don't you come to my door?

As fridge-rator to beer in the head between the ears adorned with flashy widgets with which to trap the hoes he hopes that he can pull into his poles. His gravity whips wide so hands find and feel up erthing that gots the tail, he wants to rail so hands out he walks and tilts to one side and back holding his glass. ******* limp around the rim, dipping his fingertips into the juice like he wants to dip into you, pinkies as he holds your head forcing you to **** like you want his come as much as he wants to come. Then when done zips up, runs out, "***** sayonara", switch rerun mode without emotion. He floatin. He floatin. He gloatin.

Head on the couch back making tired, one eye open scoping everyone's glow as they move, when up he comes sittin in my face, spittin what he thinks I want him to say, I'm like, "****, guy control that tongue, you spray like that always I'm afraid I won't take that wild ****, as tool is to you as to yo *****." Right ******* ****** spittin harder in the lean up perhaps the lead up to fist flung to react. "Man you too loose, I gotta tell you, I've got just what you do." "Your uh ******?" Man watch ya flavor of language, I got just enough ****** left to get hard and stomp you, heel first in boots bought to stomp, pre-emptive to deal with the bullwhip effect where first you droolin to **** me, then retract like a bowstring because my ***** resembles a ****. "What you want, *****? You wan **** this **** for real?" (For real?) He floatin. He floatin. He floatin the room, he ghosting.

Lick my lips, cept it's not a tongue. For this purpose it's strobe lights, in light show, and like snow, black and white between sheets of plastic TV screen on get settled into my flow, rip back and forth like prongs on a fork on your ******* blindfolded and scolded right angle, bent like an L-shape repenting for **** by taking the ******, flash cards, held up on headboards, trying to teach you metrics and standards lacking in you to tune you into the lifestream, no empathy and no tact to show, remember this hell well while you sail through life preying, I'm praying and making marks in meat coats. But he floatin. He floatin. He gloatin.

Tabby Lix is the chick with the **** sure to get your hammer swanging. Pull back and strike! without each and every regret you were fed by the newest precedence in social norms. Peek this bull-****, scope his or her form. Non-binary ***** she's splitting your mind in two and got you confused so rear back your neck, dragon, it's K -- I got the shield. Boy. One of you might want to **** me the other turn tail 'way while another one even less understanding might got something to say, he say: *** drop ya pants, I'll cut ya little **** off n I'll feed it to you and if you need a reason you only need to know who ya talking to. When I walk with my walk I'm a horse trot, like I got the whole pride of lions riding on my stride --
I like to **** the girls
I need deplete *** to survive
I know the entire world
yes everything high and low there is to see and, all of the reaches and trends begin and end with me. I know you know I got the right the justified authority to beat you in your ******* face for the choices you make that might lie beyond the confines my head. I don't believe in you and I don't need to. Rear back your head, Dragon, it's K I got the shield. And when I'm back on attack I gotta let my **** dangle down to show you ******* what's real just like sometimes I **** ***** or lick ***** and ****-****** or **** butts, I'll penetrate you, you ****. House-pet cat Tabby Lix gets her fix by dancing with the devil on or off her leash you, never, never -- **** with master. Check the collar. Guess boy/girl for $10. Lift muh tail up. Use your fingers. Can you find, blind? When I win I'll buy a dime bag.  Make me feel good. Kitty catnip. Stick your tongue down my throat, descend unto madness.

Dance barefoot to the lowly beach
below a chorus of cars
singing sweetly as the set sun drifts
below, in purple, rolling the world to
a swirl of stars
Under it I hold truth in my arches
to find glass to bleed color into gray,
into black, just as in my hands I hold you
It's as if severance finds me over again
where I curl on the boulder I last saw your face
In bare footsteps I seep into ether the memories
of a bitterness, of a love that left,
in hopes that I wake up
here again, living with the comforting notion
that the endless sea and sands, surrounding this
beach will bring me back to the surface
as I suffocate.
I suffocate.

I gave my all to you
- Now, now, girl, that's no fault of anyone
had almost opened up
- Too little too late in this case
I was giving my energy to you
- Now, now I'll be sure to wave as I walk on by
and had almost opened up

Detached from a source of cord so miserable,
so maybe when I wake up I can roll right out of bed
believing in me, believing in the purpose in
my carriage, instead of putting you first and on the
pedestal which should have been reserved for better.

Better:
I said it.

I gave my all to you
- Now, now, girl, that's no fault of anyone
had almost opened up
- Too little too late in this case
I was giving my energy to you
- Now, now I'll be sure to wave as I walk on by
and had almost opened up

I want you to lay me down like a blanket and
bury your face in my legs like snuggling
the creases for your Winter warmth
falling in love with my creases
make me believe it in the way
that you move your tongue
the way that you kiss, like you've missed me for centuries,
and it's my taste that you want over ocean and stone
my body's tension to your touch and release as I open up
I tell my tale writhing in bed, ending at midway with your face
on my clavicle, smelling of me as you softly breathe in and out
At time of the turning tides, hidden through curtains,
slicing the moonlight over you, ******* and dimples baring brazenly, I'll take the love that you gave me and breathe it back into you,
mouthing nothings and humming, playing my song for you.
Tracing your wanting folds with my lips, will you hold my head?
In the bed that I share with you.

I think I need to talk to you soon
real soon, real soon
about this game you play and how it might cost
me my sanity in the end if you can't cross visible
bridges to meet in the middle
What do you see?
What do you see out there?
What do you need?
What do you need out of me?
What do you bring?
What do you bring as treat to the table?
Or do you come here under cover,
stalking the night for your secret lover
seeking only input and release,
without the drive to provide as you receive

I'll be downtown, driving, writhing in my car
thinking of you wondering if you're thinking of me
What did I mean?
Without providence
What did I mean?
Withheld provision
What I meant in the end to you
wasn't worth the wood that built our bridges.

Lonesome in the moonlight
thinking only of your kisses
missing the levity, missing the pivotal moment
where I open eyes to two who stare in mine
and return to Earth as ash as we both burn up
as we turn to stars mimicking, a little bit,
the husks of human flesh we were
And I'm surrounded, and I drown in
the affectations of a denomination out of touch or too in tune
Pull me ever down
Under the riptide
To be so suffocated
Between the dead--
not deities.

Here's my heart, take a piece of it with you for
all I need I'll keep forever despite love and loss
while in the interim may you find solace in
the scented shavings that haunt you with whispers
"Will you be here for me for eternity?"
If I said yes I meant it even while the answer's different now

All these friends and lovers' faces come on strongly
before they withdraw into their own lies over,
and over
and over

If I said yes I meant it
even with the scissors in my hand
Were you me you'd get the gist
It's a silly situation where one love
means giving up on yourself
and settling in, into the safety
of another's arms

Love them well endowed honeys and this
ain't about just the rounded mounds of the chest
or the way that her thighs fold into her ****
but the love, present in her touch and her mug
as she smiles while maybe hiding behind violently
built walls that rise with spikes to ward off her demons
she brings to the Earth through her grace in the face of madness
a slight slice of the gladness that I can't see in most
to be alive, she sings even if silently for growth and respite
and when she moves along the sidewalk her body is robust
a presence of happiness in the gray womb of this tomb of a city she saves
Does she look like a fool to you for walking
determined and turned on despite the burden on her shoulders that's placed
there with its infinite weight by the masses
not tuned to the channel of faith and the rapture
of the world that she holds boldly in her,
they say that the images she captures offends
and if she wants to fit in, she'll have to give in
and be the frequency all see in the set top glass now plastic
wrapped up faces in glasses demanding she
prance like in the mirror for the sanctity of their ethics
But she flows and she knows her energies better than
these TV profits believe they believe or really ever can,
well endowed, respectful and proud of the strengths in her very nature
and if she knows not then she will, and if she gives in
she'll be half drowned and likely rise for the ****
She is a meat and emotion, a piece of history and more in the making
and I love her. All of her.

I’ll know by the touch of her hand I’m with god. Eyes staring into me, alight and long. Mouth to my throat, opening up. She silently speaks the words that I need: “Te amo.” My ******* in kisses. My thighs in kisses. My shins and feet and pelvis. The warmth I elicit returning to me in another who’s bound to my body in high. Slowly engulfing me, nodding, humming, smiling and writhing in tune with the music we hear in our hearts. Sprawling open, relaxed in safety so far between pits as they postcard our lives.

What the ****'s a heart to hold?
A meaningless fleck of deeply hidden human pulp
ripped right from the inside, in your palm under your gaze
pumping as if you'd never torn me --
and I hope you choke on that if you ever think to snicker --
half-squeezing maybe three times till reviving
itself into an actual, real day beyond the veil that you, closing,
walk beyond as if I'd never, as if I'd never.

Thrown out of balance
weaving in and out of love like eerie whispers
in my ear when they first told me you'd take me
Maybe eaten up from inside at my own hand
But you were, too, unable to meet my demands
To feel the energy leave me
let it go courageously in faith
that you'll hold me all the same and not blame me
for wanting to know you

I JUST WANT TO **** ING KNOW YOU
I JUST WANT TO **** ING KNOW YOU

Just for saying I get told
for that you snarl indisposed
you use people as a verb when chiding others
I use cosmos all the same for you and you blamed me
for wanting to know you

I JUST WANT TO KNOW SOMEONE FOR REAL

It’s been a long dim dance with me, I am surprised,

So surprised by your resolution

Looking into

Your eye, I saw the destination of a long, long trip

And I’ve been lost before

But now the coast rolls up and in trees

I rest with cool, cold eyes and a heart

Going thump

Thump thump

Kick, goes the beat of the drum mourning something

Lost at sea

In the ocean

Riding storms to whole new worlds and without me

Signal fire I send up, just like me,

Mourning your love I send up for lightning

And down, down, down it comes

All to curse you

All to nurse you back into health

Lost to a cool, cold sigh from a heart

Going thump

Thump thump

In the dim light, reaching its thorns out on vines

and you escaped

I’ve been lost before, but this is nothing

and you will thank me

I don't know if I'm high yet.
I find myself in the kitchen suddenly,
struggling to get the plastic wrap off a bag of popcorn.
Says microwave three minutes,
listening very carefully.
Some bags can finish in 1:30.
That means 2:00 is fine, and
I leave the room.
I think I'm high. I must be.
Let's check the pen.
I got what I've got by using the dabber
to scrape the loose excess from the walls
and rims of the little silver bullet.
Nothing left on the parchment for a while.
A gram doesn't go fast -- it lasts and it lasts
because with the smoke in my lungs
I dance the dance of my ancestors, moving
without speaking and thinking without thought,
gliding between space and time with the ghosts that I've brought,
summoned from ether and cast from the gods,
for me but by me, I am what I've lost.

My ****
follows me everywhere!
Wiggle wiggle, poke poke, jiggle jiggle.
At the fridge in night I've a friend by my side.
By my backside.
On,
my backside.
Stuck with humidity to the toilet seat on a rainy day,
that's right!
The bathroom exists, and on a toilet do I sit.
At least four or five times daily.
Stuck to chair, playing with hair with one hand
and a controller in the other.
Pumping up and down and in circles as I
jump squat.
Jump squat!
To share if you dare put your palm down there to squeeze.
Grab slap, wibble wibble.

Update:

Turns out she didn't like it. And that's fine.
I write for myself.
Though on occasion it would be nice to receive with excitement reflective of the deliverer.

Amen.

Beyond the stars, deep within blackness, refracted particles of past times being. Moment for moment, alone with the notion, I'd trade each piece of me in for some portion of wisdom as I **** myself slowly in smoke on the stoop where I sit just after midnight, every night perpetuating dreams. Fantasies where it all ends in static, dramatically falling away from the world with memories intact. Stuck within limbo, clawing for purpose between the endless sleep. Deep within blackness, the faces I sat with for years come streaming in, and mask for mask, in the stars' masquerade, you're in your place trapped in love as the others. I deport data as I rend through the sky, I know that I'll find you, as the dirt parts from the coffin lid and I explode into light.

[A dialogue between Brigid and her boss, Hollis. Hollis has called Brigid into his office and gestured to close the door.]

Brigid: Hey, sorry. You know how hard it is getting him outta here when he's got a problem.

Hollis: I do, I do. Go ahead and pop a squat for a second, dear.

Brigid: So what's going on?

Hollis: Brigid, your fingers are always so ashy.

[Brigid wipes her hands on the darkest part of her faded slacks.]

Brigid: Oh, yeah, that's a bad habit that's getting worse. I was just in the bathroom, too. So I guess I should probably start washing my hands more often.

Hollis: No, hon, it's not about the ashes -- you're smoking **** in the office. More and more it seems like.

Brigid: Oh I mean, I've been smoking for a while.

Hollis: Not in the office.

Brigid: Well, now I do.

Hollis: You don't see anything wrong with that?

Brigid: I mean, you never really said anything about it when I brought it in the first time, so I just kinda kept on going. And that, that was like, at least two weeks ago, I think.

Hollis: I don't think it's been as long as you're thinking.

Brigid: I see what you're trying to do here. However long doesn't matter -- I know for a fact you've seen me before and didn't say anything.

Hollis: I'm saying something now.

Brigid: Yes you are.

Brigid: Oh.

Hollis: Look, hon. Could you just go use the balcony round back?

Brigid: Well sure, but I kinda have to be at the desk, you know? That's why I never leave on my breaks, either.

Hollis: Brigid, it looks bad.

Brigid: What, smoking ****?

Hollis: Yes, it looks real bad. It reflects the professionalism of the Human Services Office. Or the lackthereof.

Brigid: How?

Hollis: I believe it's popular opinion that being under the influence of any substance impairs your ability to dutifully perform your work, and perform work that sets the best possible standard.

Brigid: Actually, and I kid you not, it really, really helps me perform my work. See, without it, I believe, I would not be able to live up to your standards.

Hollis: You're acting like--

Brigid: Hollis, please, for the love of god. I'm such an awesome employee, right? Always upright. Always for the good of the people. Last night! Last night I went to Davis's place for some coffee.

Hollis: I thought you were going to stop doing that.

Brigid: You should have seen it. Oh god, the mess that went down. Unruly mercenary helping hands serving fists up to unappreciative patrons, *** workers slinging emselves over tables and the bar, sweat and all that other nasty body water mixing up next to all the food and alcohol.

Hollis: What--

Brigid: Hollis, I went out back for a cigarette and there were people milling around in the alley ******* each other. People are ******* ******* behind Davis's place, and you're worried about just, a little bit of the good stuff defacing the image our city.

Hollis: Jesus Christ, okay, alright. You're right, that's disgusting.

Brigid: Told ya.

Hollis: When you gotta smoke, just ask Helen to watch the front for you.

Brigid: What if I just put the pipe away when someone's at the counter?

Hollis: I'd really prefer outside.

Brigid: Okay, how about, if I go to the window. So that way there's no smoke inside?

Hollis: You're just about ******* impossible, little girl. Forget I said anything, forget the whole ****** thing. I ask you for one favor, and you can't even do that.

Brigid: I do all your other favors.

[Brigid gets up and walks to the door.]

Hollis: You're still giving me that discount on Cheese, right?

Brigid: Absolutely. I'm gonna take a break and go out back for a cigarette.

I like to imagine my neighbors having ***.
Familiar faint squeaks catch my interest while ****
cooks red with my lips at the tip of the **** pipe.
First faint then foot to floor driving the grand prix
while exhaling and pale I stare up at the ceiling.
They're *******. That smooth and dark brown,
long black and kinked hair having, bare hairy
belly in leather jacket wearing strange and
tasty cut of chubbed up muscle overpowering
with his plowing, the the soft plump curves
of her in alabaster white, coif cut long but
both the sides, inside her just so open walls,
pounding deeply in snycopated beating
rhythms, in love or lust, it's left to be wondered.
My favorite balancing act, knee wobbling
daring to throw me from the one legged stance
where I perch with my ear in a glass, glass to asbestos,
living vicariously through them as if it's my sole chance to live,
Claire's mystical 1/8's  blare in the stale air from
the lone speaker on my TV and my breathing flickers.
Huffs to gasping puffs to sighs leading to huffs again,
I can't help that I spend time inside my head. I want it.
I dream of my neighbors *******.
Open. Bent down. *** up. Deleting the question marked
space between faces I make outside and in heat, alone under sheets in a bedroom.
I want to be ******.
**** me. Pound me.
Press me down and wrap your hand around my ribs.
Touching. Taking.

Currently, I receive energies played in waves above
plains sunken under progressive ruination
streets of rock run white with rain
washing and washing
ways for joy to fall,
waste washing down from heaven in rain
washing and washing.
Under their breath someone sees death and says
what of what I'm left, with and without?
While the next life in line with their hands in their pockets
can't help but just stand there and nod, in a
wave that continues to the rough edge of people
besieged by grief huddled nearby if not together in the flood.
I can't help but stand there and kick the water
while looking over my shoulder at loneliness.
Somewhere behind me, there is nothing.

It's not just what I heard
but who I heard it from
I hurt you? You hurt me, too
and brought in depression
Do I really deserve this much aggression?

Tell me that you'll stab me and I'll let you in
for a hug, and if it's the last one,
the one that I give you, then perfect

just perfect

If you want a war,
I'm captain and soldier
whatever the cause it's you and I'll be there
If you want a war
of consciences and guilt
until one of us drops dead
instead of the, "ain't doin this"
I will be the one
to do you in.

Since I've left my body have I since gone on a better way?
In this mess of nothingness, and don't get me wrong,
I assume all fault
is there any good at all that I could save?
What more am I than a hunk of meat
who fills its holes with food and drink
and drugs and barely thinks past any day but today?
I'm nothing.

Wind's comin in you crazy few wanderers
who
still wander in this madness we're still calling earth
can't you see, can't you see what's all around you?
Look! The walls. The walls are closin in, friend.
You're walking in circles while the world surrounds you,
is what you're doin. But, and I'm sorry for screaming,
you're free to go. By all means, pass this place.
Keep going, and go into the town, look around
and pass the time. It's a fine place for it.
You should know. When you leave, this
place for the next, for the next, for the next,
you'll find me. And all I do is sit. While I wait.
Why walk, when you can fly?

I will wear my love for you as you wake
not knowing if I'll be shaken so much today
that I'll let my back out from under support
that I'll let my soul slip sideways and wave goodby
while you look up at the snapping beams
wishing you were still asleep
I will write you a list of words as in our struggle with spoken verse
I am caught with what I mean to say stuck in meaningless whispers
Killing myself again, against your wishes, with cigarettes
spinning the secret notions and emotions in a song
I believe in nighttime you'll find my
praise of you as I sing, deeply

On a winter night,
listen at the window

Cold wind blowing on your face
and through your shirt
let the pressure go
Oh,
Invite my shyly into your space
feel that I'll be thankful
when I wake
that I surround you

He's not home ever anymore
so I sit and I whittle 'way time on the porch
while I wait to meet him again
I return to the stars, tracing days with my finger in air
Fractured back, swingin' limb
Some haunted monster to others who show refusal of humanly care

Work in progress. BLAH! Writer's block.
Work. in. pro. GRESS.

X: "**** it."
Ben by the Window: "Got a problem man?"
X: "I can't finish this and it makes me so mad because it was there and now it's gone like that."

X snaps fingers. Snaps. fin. gerrs.

X: "Stop nursin that potato, ya *****, come on, give it, pass it."
Window Ben: "You keep writin and writin, so what are ya gonna do with it?"

X hits that ****. Hits. dhat. shiiiiiiiiiit.

X: "Ben. That's not right. This, is, the doing with. Get it?"

ex cough cough cough exhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaale.

Things could be swept away just as easily
as the words I rain again on you.
Between a breathy verse you might turn around
to give my spoken heart its procession.
- but communication fails me with a weary tongue.
Symptoms come of a loneliness, struck with
a withering for the cold shoulder.
Meaningless, bleating it, leaving backward
to satellite.

At times I shake my head at my own actions
or lackthereof too clearly seen in my reaction
Am I not allowed benefit of the doubt
for this common transgression?
As if you would gloat in the same situation
in which you plausibly have been.
You would never really present,
would you?

I thought as much and I'll walk willingly
while I wait for your hubris to just *******,
wait for you to just *******.

Spirit healer you are my personal gift from god.
Night fans down, until midnight past or more
I follow your taste to the dark and through doors
For a moment I lapse into letting go
where I reconnect
where I disconnect
casually always, most days lost to impressions
through telescope

Swallowing just a minute back to nature's love
Back to mother's arms, Back to father's arms

Sophisticate basic thought when I sit with you
Briefly sipping news directly from the source
learning for sure what I miss moving forward and cast off before
In each night forever on and on
still closer to me
still closer to me
softly and savvy shimmering lips to my ear
all in whispered tones.

Healing and wandering aimless into nature's arms.

I am thankful for the opportunity to feel.

To be here, as opposed to absence.

I am a statistical near impossibility.

Death missed me as stars led me from nothingness

through time to landings where feet touched, and

breath breathed, and hearts pumped.

I am fortunate for the blessing of clarity and thankful

of those moored in the void around me.

Is love? Is love, s/he said, (…) is love.

Lost
maybe finding a way before too long
through the fog locking knives into skin
for the sins swept in on my heart
though more likely gone till the lies fall in
with the death of the loved ones who shun
time again, again and again, genuine feeling
Feeling the closing in walls
preemptively seeping through palms
while we wait for the squeezing,
enthralled

Pressure from vision and images talking in silent rhymes
hiding in Heidegger with numbers null up to nineteen
Life now becomes what their lives all became

Penance
Pay it
Play with
decay surrounding as if all is alright
smiling and laughing, swallowing and choking through night
dead in the morning