it’s only i get a little scratchy across my shins at 1:33
forehead against work desk
leant down to run a track on my legs
phone untouched, shortcuts retraced
HTT ..PS//
ishouldntcheckyoursocials.      us.

couldn’t make me an addict of loss
which really is the untapped potential
for the future internet of things
safari, waystone.
safari, favourer of webpage rerunners,
safari, guide me back to a bookmarked
cliff-edge of ache.

cookies know me better than my housemate who’s sweetness blocked his accounts before something broke and we’d have to talk about it.

once the whiter lines appear on shinskin like my algorithm
I can sit back up
if not satiated at least appeased
the sound my lungs make isn’t really laughing or crying but
a wheeze.

I feel my phone vibrate
in my jeans pocket
even though it rests
in front of me on the desk
like a severed limb
can still itch

Oh, hello itch,
I've not missed you!
Nor your pleading, uneasy,
Eager smile,
Wicked begging eyes,
And hungry open mouth.
I've quite enjoyed this past while,
Lacking your insistent whispers.
Your lustful face
Looming round each corner of my boxed up,
Broken brain -
'FRAGILE - Do Not Break'
Ignored by the world -
Allowing you unforced entry,
You made a home
Hidden in the shadow
Of my unconscious darkness.
Fitfully coming to light
To remind me
Of yours and therefore my own;
Plea to die.

After. As on a vessle allowing living
in words as thoughts held,
in the common,
whence we gather,
to consider the day,

any one, the one you have, you chose
a nice one,
nothing out of the ordinary, just

another day of judging things worthy
of my attention,

mmhmm, vow-eless yes, I know you know.

we think each word
is brim full, to the limit of any sur-ficant tension…

I can't, floating on the surface, wave fi,
turdish, high fibregnosis,
floating post flush, rush ride it down…

Relax. Gnoshit, we guess, we test we weigh
the laugh,
ask what is so funny?

Time, the old man chuckles, time itself.

I've an itch to scratch
Inside my nose;
An itch that runs
Down to my toes.
I'll yoga pose
With those, my toes,
To wiggle-tiggle
That scratchy itch
Tickling my nose.

I run my fingers everywhere,
Well, almost everywhere.

They dance along your back in reassurance,
Seek shelter in the comfort of your own,
Press matter to matter to confirm your existence,
Wring the day’s dripping tension from your back,
And shoulders, and feet.

In the mornings they profusely itch,
Until they get the chance to text you good morning,
In the afternoons they gnawingly ache,
Until they’re knocking at your door.
But mostly, in the evenings they joyously sing,
Home once again wrapped up in yours.

I run my fingers everywhere,
Well, Mostly everywhere.

But mostly, they strain to breaking
Reaching out to you.

her eyes her eyes her eyes
are exquisitely annoying
what she would do to have that gone
and it is a rash and she is acting rashly
but she hates it and it keeps going on
her eyes her eyes her eyes

Teasers, itches wishin' scratches,

gentle dharma level reasons to be
attended to
now,
lest we forget
unget
ungiven sigils signifyin'finite
insignif-ican't sirs, if I can
sort the signal from the noise
-- pause, remember
watch something on the idiot box, oh yeah,
that reminds me,
here's the itch, that fully funcyanin' lie,
yellow and black warning with
magenta scars burn printed
RK Nexivm cult branded
pain proven acceptable
true children of pride,
humbling themselves,
to be the knowers
of the secret
meaning
brand name, rampaging stallion
roger out .-. -.- the code is RK okeh.
K being gone black, fade to black snappy,
tic click 256 shades from white to K
saturated all light absorbed,
out, black, night ink
itching to link
one thought to another,

peace of mind, itchless wonder
being the aim of artists intuition
given poetic licentiousness's final amen.

... now, I lay me down to sleep.