sunday monday tuesday

little eyes little teeth, you steal my fingers and
wrap them around yours with casual warmth
a brush of your palm to command my lungs, your mercy, your chocolate polyphony

i hate to say it but my brain is a poetry organ, my heart an ever-reaching muscle, and you are a beautiful boy forever in sunday shoes.

100 tips to a healthy heart

(every day,
go home and convince yourself
that you've never met a woman.

if it helps,
dig a hole in your yard
and fill it with your head.

if you do not have a yard
in which to dig,
borrow one
from a family member
or sympathetic friend.

if you do not have a head
with which to fill your hole,
consider yourself
all the better for it.))

this is actually just about something stupid

heavy with words, i set out among your withered barley
and prodded until the miserable earth sprouted its paltry stem.
though credulous, worthless and petty, it felt alive through my fingers
folding through each knuckle, durable and emerald, its short span granted slower seconds of my decay.
between my thumb and my forefinger it beat youth, and my hands were green, and for a second i thought i was quite entirely content.

// greatest movie. Beautiful Song.

love, love, love (everyone)

i held my limbs together in the shower, suction cups and my sides
i held your hand under a blanket on a saturday morning
i held a child in my arms and wondered, what if this was mine? My mom would wrinkle and cry and hug me like in the movies, and i'd lie helplessly in my starch bed sheets, all hair and sweat and heaving.
i held you in such a high regard, but now i see that was silly.
i held my breath under water for exactly 30.50 seconds, because i 'have tiny baby lungs' says my dad

my liver to the dogs

sunday night, when i was meant to be socializing, i slaughtered keys instead.
good girls would get the sliced cheese out of the fridge before five, and
good girls would have set the table when i asked you the first time, and
good girls do not have sweaty passionate sex on the kitchen counter.

now, do we remember which fork is for the desert?
why dont we show grandma how we use our words and not our fists?
our inside shoes go in the red box remember? I dont want to see you half naked on the front porch again,
dried puke on your chest and piss down your leg.
good girls would have not forgotten to pick up the eggs, thats what the car is for.

not until i was knuckle deep in ivory did i notice your hand on my shoulder,
you said "whose funeral is it!"
it was mine.
it was fucking
mine was was
was mine
fuck

i went to my elementary school today

I remember your Bible studies
you put ketchup on our hands so nobody could touch us
and whispering preschool hymns, we picked from behind your fence
until my mother drove me away
And i remember when i had glass skin
and Patrick broke through, so i had to get tougher shoes
we danced and gambled affections over layers of broken skin
splintered backs, loose lips and heavy hearts.
And then the hours would grow thin, and sift through my fingers
so i untied my shoes and loosened my shirt
we tore into the grass, lush and sniffling, you told me we'd probably get married
you were crying in the kitchen, so i wet my lips just to prove that i was sorry.
I remember a ring of flowers around your eyes and a blue dress melted at my feet
4 o'clock on thursday night, i found the picture we took when you discovered that we could love
I remember what we drank, and how i almost touched warm skin.
Taking up my friday in strangers arms, she pulled me into warm light and then let me go
In the morning we would dig our feet into the marsh, and you said i shouldnt talk to you.
Your dog had wet old eyes, and i never fancied getting my hands dirty like that.
late holiday afternoons
we would sip on garbage beer and stare at the ocean
wondering when we had ever been 13



IF ITS THE BEACHES- THE AVETT BROTHERS

and i always knew i'd lose it this way;

that amorous organ of yours
kept arrested in your chest
throbbing behind bars, it breathes and bleeds and then vomits all over my rug
it wrings its hands, indebted to the swaying of hips and words that got lost in your throat.
you know, the ones that you wanted to use the other night at rehersal,
but the music was too loud and we started humming in 4/8 because our timing was so off.
in a softer world, your ribs wouldnt hurt
and i would love like everyone else does.
(every spring i get a bit romantic
and kiss a frog.
and of course, i feel ridiculous
thats why it never goes any further)
your strings are not meant for me, oh erogenous one!

THESE GIRLS FALL LIKE DOMINOS- BIG PINK

its not a crime to look the way you do, and how i like to picture you.

i spent the whole day taking pictures of things

things in coats

things on tv

things that made me sad.

and while you went out and got drunk

i sat and drew shapes in my carpet-a ship beset on all sides by dense waves

a plague of angry elements, hooking the mist. rolling and frothing up against the boards, its body carnally rubs the ship raw.

things in purple

things on buses

things related to your conniving undertow

i would tell you this, as you massage her lipstick out of your collar

and you wipe saliva off your chin

but i know you would only say,

"yeah, that turns me on quite a bit."

ANYTHING YOU SYNTHESIZE- THE AMERICAN DOLLAR

you speak first

When he spoke his
voice purled out in liquid shots like disturbulence from an undersea jet, warping and
whipping the sub serving air. Crinkly subaqueous smears, and teeth teeth teeth.
bound to his skull
armed with nothing but the ivory in his mouth; he proposes.

suddenly regret is
a lump in my trachea
and my thoughts
fragrant of you.

a poem, for your troubles.

My bed is an ocean-
waves of blue cotton and liquid layers of wool
stretch out from my body,
surrounding, spreading for minute-miles in each direction
while I float atop them,
alone beneath the salt-grey of my bedroom ceiling
And the balmy pastel blue, that is my sky

Tentacles of polished ebony pulse from every shadow,
slink noiselessly along the hardwood floor
slowly-slowly-and my eyes are globes of marble
still and sightless,
centered on the impossible image of your face.

Reflected in the paint above me-
grainy and dull, are eyes-
Full as my own, and cheeks, that lying smile
false strength radiating from each tortured pore-
your healthful flush was stolen from a bottle,
and within the firm white of your teeth,
there is rot.

Crimson tides course the canyons of my body
as I lay, heat dripping from tired flesh to the mattress below.
It warms, and swells, and begins to spread,
drawing me with iron gentleness into its core.
Even as I sink and ropes of black swarm up to choke me,
my eyes are on yours,
gazes locked in fatalistic embrace, hard-edged and bitter.
I'm indebted to this moment

You drown me here, in my own longing-
your eyes are cold: they do not know me.
I need to hear you scream, voice raised in prurient protest
I want to see you weep, hot tears of shame scalding leathered flesh;
I pray to know you breathe, precious life beating still within your withered shell,
But there is nothing. Your portrait remains as it was,
unmoving, sepia shades of hush.

And yet, I forgive you, and with it comes
exquisite release, as the blackness fades
and the shackles loosen on my wrists.
I forgive because I know that
you would not notice either way.
My forgiveness could no more touch you than my hatred, or my love.

" why are my pants sideways? "

you can have it all

I LIKE YOU SO MUCH IT MAKES ME GRUMPY I WANT TO TELL YOU THAT YOU ARE BEING RIDICULOUS BUT, GOD, WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH ALL THIS SPACE

(you're like a slant rhyme.
you work so nicely in theory but
you end up so flawed)

(recycled words..)

you could've said i just wanted to prove you wrong,
or you could've said i wanted to feel the sun on my shoulders through your windshield,
or you could've said i needed you with me, i needed you, i needed.

instead you said, "i'm going to pull over here."

and the time passed as it should have, it trickled down my spine. Funny thing is, i'm starting to feel it.
You took me in the soccer field, the alley way, park bench, radio tower, ikea restaurant, county office building and asked me "is this okay?"

and i could've told you, "yes,"
or i could've told you, "sometimes liking someone is not enough."
or i could have told you, "you've got something in your teeth"
or i could've told you, "of course- because nothing could possibly change the way i feel about this now"

but instead, i just smiled.

(..reuse, reduce)

well its you that i hold on to.

Tonight is fake prom.
and i am inside, intoxicated and desolate
just like real prom.

we promenade, kiss on the mouth and lust as we're conditioned.
we hold hands, pet eachothers eyelids and indulge in secret love affairs while the kitchen feels lively below our naked mass.
provide me with a climax. give me death. give me sex.
i'm counting my demons. you're stationed in that wooden chair of yours, the one right in front of your computer screen that i sat in once trying to play guitar secretly while you showered and i pretended to feel nothing being in your special 'you' spot. but i've lost you.
why must i dote on you. you bastard. you lovely, special being.
i'll save the summer of ’77 for those who made it out alive. i can see the moon in the marquee where plastic letters spell out the first time my parents fell in love.

and yet, in much variance
I cannot stand your gentle hands, grotesque in their tenderness.
Fingers like tentacles, those jellyfish palms.
(i could do this myself, and i thought about it only seconds ago, but the pinacle of my pursuit is almost too suddenly achieved)
he is my iron-bound and jagged star, lovely to bits, and it seems i wont yet quit.
suddenly, fortitude becomes a hard word to swallow.

she went up, and, oh

I want to play hide-and-seek and give you my clothes and tell you I like your shoes and sit on the steps while you take a bath and massage your neck and kick your feet and hold your hand and go for a meal and not mind when you eat my food and meet you at Starbucks and talk about the day and type your letters and carry your boxes and laugh at your paranoia and give you tapes you don't listen to and watch great films and watch terrible films and complain about the radio and take pictures of you when you're sleeping and get up to fetch you coffee and bagels and Danish and go to Denny's and drink coffee at midnight and have you steal my booze and never be able to find a match and tell you about the the programme I saw the night before and take you to the eye hospital and not laugh at your jokes and and sit on the steps laughing till your neighbour comes home and sit on the steps laughing till you come home and worry when you're late and be amazed when you're early and give you sunflowers and go to your party and dance till I'm black and be sorry when I'm wrong and happy when you forgive me and look at your photos and wish I'd known you forever and hear your voice in my ear and feel your skin on my skin and get scared when you're angry and your eye has gone red and the other eye blue and your hair to the left and your face oriental and tell you you're weird and hug you when you're anxious and hold you when you hurt and speak German to you badly and Hebrew to you worse and listen to bad music good music alright music and laugh at the wrong part in the movie or feel uncomfortable during certain parts and try to cook but fail miserably let you know i'm here for the fun i'm here if anyone needs me i'm here to poke fun of to belittle or even be fond of