Wednesday, December 31, 2014

this v. this

i cried at the news. a fortune cookie
had made it come true. goal accomplished!
i thought maybe i'd make a postsecret out of it.
'kuz i thought there was something
with me this whole time that i don't cry at the news

just trying to keep up with
the names of countries, why

do they keep talking about islam, and saying

white/black- and please do bring light
to how non-violence isn't even non-violence any longer.

nonono i don't want to be apolitical! i want a special title!
bring light to how impressionable we stay
and do what we're told
but say we go out of our ways not to.


my name is george orwell. i left
the graveyard seeking a 24mg nicotine patch.
there wasn't a single person who
i passed on my journey
that knew everything like i do.

should you choose to,
i hope you find the learning experience exciting .

Tuesday, December 30, 2014

human embrace, walking
along the outskirts
of warmth.

in the body temperature
is a song
and it takes a while
to get used to

before you can like it

what is it, you

and apart,
timid conversations
being velcro

i wont tell
truth is the celebrity
with all the power

and if you bow, happy ending

Monday, December 29, 2014

relationships are super important.

i've become important so
earning being volatile


stay inside.

how busy i am

burning holes in my jeans
picking lint off my bare mattress
plucking things that can
be plucked. peacock feathers.

those ignorant birds!-
white vases
without them feathers.

warm tissue needle

heart's desire, needle

i tailgate its
every move,

i love your life.

"i'm near"

old photo albums)
"just a sec"-

bridge of the forest-
hunter's debt

long overdue
the dream

doing what it is that
i want to do.

shoot it, then
spit on it

then walk away.
there's more to life than being
held captive- rat

i like them but mom says no
i argue rats are super intelligent
rats live in the streets though
i like pigeons too and they're dirty
and they're flying rats.

good point. dirty!

recedes from the pointed direction
of sensory flow

without warning. hard-wired
human behavior is

certainly worth giving a shot.
you will live again-

your innocence is not yet shot.

i'll raise my cup to it.
there are greater mistakes to

yet, still

through the door and out the passage
tumbleweed scratching throughout the plane

planning your dream himalayan travel trip

Sunday, December 28, 2014

aum tara starving light force-

you be my skeleton key,
my darling daughter.

and if you meditate
meditate really hard
you learn that

first of all
relativity: discerned perception.

and second

not to feel bad
if i'm not always gasping at
how amazing the stars are

for if i do not gasp, it means
i am not attached

and stars are dead so even better.
don't get all hung-up
on the dead!

i've only known
exaggerated in appearance
oh why
oh why me

because really
they are just as much
particles of the flux
as i am

little atoms fizzling, eating
away at each other, babbling

in vowels and even numbers
about cosmogony

walk the streets nude
mimic the ceremony
the best i can.

preparing for combustion.

sentient teal rings!

Saturday, December 27, 2014


big flat-topped rock, mica
eroded trash,
why have you pinched the
skin of my feet?

it's the swim for which i am in,

awakening the ambergris

i want the same as them

djuna at night do you
drown under my porous waters?
it's such a

and i did it myself

i did it to see
if i could make

a space station
in light-brites

i was so bored
and i didn't want

mutter pretense moan hot
bubbles sprinkle tissue
leech fig tree first man
first woman first fuck-up
figuring it out the

fool-proof way mutating into
every other color imaginable
turning out to be
no matter what

the day is shot,
say my body saved the
world if the world is a war
and all i did
while it was happening
was lots of nothing

can we keep it

even after he became enlightened along with all the other german people in my dream, and he ran out of his house proclaiming it, it was too late because this was post-apocalyptic, and we had all wound up marrying everything we didn't believe in but found comfort in, and there were giant ant-robots everywhere we had learned to adjust to, and it was too late. we lynched hitler when he came out of hiding, because sorry from hitler didn't mean anything.

Friday, December 26, 2014

i'm going to the supermarket to see the lonely people and gather ingredients to make lonely people food and hold a really small lonely people party.
a glaciers pace
placid rock

i made you that way

gripping onto

final attachment remaining,
the last artery.

before wandering
into nomadic travels.
i'll lose my soul and really
that'd be all i'd have to lose
if it weren't for you.

plate-shift having
often offended
herald in the plasma barely
under the ocean surface

into cells that too
are naked of color

also naked of happy

happened upon during
explicit conversation

this day offers many moments of hush.

i wish to let the other know
i think this is anger

toward you

lost in distance from me

is it taking a long time to
make new friends i'd write

on a postcard
followed by several question marks

i wont
i wont pry no matter what it takes which
is a lot
did you know those are pearls
yeah pearls are saliva

and it's all over your pillow
out of your mouth

and mine as well

you breathe, breath
changing pearls to opaque

how light!
this pearl is for us all
and a sacrifice for

the moon
thank you! being

alive is so threatening

this pearl is a he loves me, he loves me not pearl
and so are the next few.

this pearl is for
the born at long last

and also for
born again over and over
at the same time.

"alive" is the origin

we are all flowergirls, after all

these next
keep the planet spinning.

underneath our feet
possession of feeling


i confess i am its and i give

it all
the power

pandora was naive
yes this is she

and yes
this is she proudly
hey tree bark

aren't you a little forgone

you hang in there for

yourself alone

hang in there for

dreamless sleeper

the weather vane holds steady
aphids on your body

their teeth bare say they're racoons

cleaning their teeth

generous cleaning
generous cleaning

on you i to sit think dream without

feigning. you

grow into a brave symbolism-
how i'm all about decomposition!

Thursday, December 25, 2014

since i've left this war
i don't care that i have genius.

too much extraneous.
senseless fumes

back in the day
perfect was the law.

i healed lovers

made their favorite foods
walking down aisles in favorite colors

i like how dye

is it not extravagant
like the weather?-

one extreme to the other,
never to return

but always longing to?

when i go back i will be a baby
look i'm pretending to be a baby

i know pretty i know
shiny goo goo gah gah
i know shiny

developmental stages,
dear post secret: i keep almost typing "dear craig's list".

dear post secret: washing my hands after using the bathroom for me goes about fifty-fifty.

dear post secret: when i worry i don't love my dog enough, i don't realize that's silly. i don't even realize i'm distancing myself from reality, which is an obvious coping mechanism, and that's why i don't feel like i love my dog. i just worry, think fast, and overreact.

dear post secret: i triggered my old best friend who i love so dearly into cutting themselves again after years of not by showing her my own personal work. i never talked about it with her. but if i see her again, i will, and i will apologize. it will be more momentous than a marriage proposal.

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

dear post secret: one time i was put on the spot by my first "serious" boyfriend. he asked me what i found most attractive about him. i didn't know how to lie, so i told him "your eyelashes".

dear post secret: the first guy i dated was such a bad kisser that he broke the bottom webbing of my tongue. i bled a lot and went to the E.R. the bottom webbing grows back, as if a lizard's tail. i promised him then that i'd keep it between us, but i've told this story many, many times.

dear post secret: i wish that i was raised with a better religion than "christian-athiest".

dear post secret: i had a crush on my ex-stepmom's cat. it drove me up the fucking wall. it was more like, like many things i've experienced, having an evil twin tell me i had a crush on my cat than experiencing lovey-dovey thoughts about my cat. no. it was EXACTLY like that.

dear post secret: this also happened with my dad. i was convinced i had a crush on my dad. i think that was a by-product of spending all of my childhood before then trying to impress dad.

dear post secret: when i was little, i became mean to a friend that was nice to me because i was scared i was a lesbian. my sister told me i was.

dear post secret: i'm beyond scared that i did a lot of the things i have done because, unconsciously, i wanted to collect compelling stories. and maybe not unconsciously. maybe i'm just a monster out to manipulate the world.

dear post secret: every crush i've ever had has been obsessive.

dear post secret: i love aileen wuornos.

dear post secret: i'm invariably afraid of overhearing other people behaving sexually to the extent that i'm convinced it's frequently happening, but i'm certain i've been heard over and over as i feigned reckless abandon.

dear post secret: i always lie to therapists when they would ask if i'm having protected sex, because i didn't want to feel like i was in trouble. i've had more unprotected sex than not.

dear post secret: i'm so sensitive about invalidation that when i talk to people i am always afraid of accidentally invalidating that other person.

dear post secret: my favorite novel is "the bell jar", and probably because i can actually concentrate on it.
i shower
drinking water
bathing in drinking water

baptizing myself. we can
all be cleansed

we can bare living with sin.
the bathroom mirror is steamy.

with my index finger
i trace the shape of the body on it,

the body
to whom this country would
appear as it is
if body alone

tracing the shape of "we will
work it all out one day-

you never know
about tomorrow."

mirror of mine, i'm
your dimension removed.

no longer am i in love with your poetry.

Monday, December 22, 2014

dear post secret: when i listen to music i imagine i'm the lead musician, or involved in the production somehow. i've imagined myself performing on award shows countless times. i don't even watch award shows.

dear post secret: i say the most expensive thing i've ever stolen was ninety dollars. lie. it was seventy-five.

dear post secret: i say i've never cheated on a boyfriend before. this is bull. i felt very alone in one relationship, and wound up seducing guys who i did not care for, committing a single act with them on the impulsive-whim, and would pretend it never happened, never talking to them ever again, and talking badly about them otherwise. these things did happen.
what's more upsetting to me is not the people whose feelings i probably hurt, but being a complete hypocrite.

dear post secret: i got involved with that one boyfriend when i was in the middle of a "relationship", or whatever that was. i say it's morally okay because the guy i was already involved with had disappeared on a crack binge and it was all a total joke anyway. it was all indeed a total joke and i felt freed and happy when i dumped him harshly via voicemail, but the crack binge is only something i strongly believe. there's no evidence to it happening.

dear post secret: both of those boyfriends i met in psych wards.

dear post secret: i worry i plagiarize everyone.

dear post secret: i believe typing a lot doesn't make me the type of writer i could ever respect.

dear post secret: i find david foster wallace assy and smug.

dear post secret: i remember so many things that are probably very insignificant that have hurt me. i carry the burden because i know the only reason they've hurt is because i'm so unbearably sensitive.

dear post secret: i consider myself very much so in touch with my inner genius, and respectful of it.

Sunday, December 21, 2014

i dreamed my therapist kept going on vacation or kicking me out of her life due to insurance mix-ups. and it was in a slum.

dear post secret: somehow, writer's block being one of my biggest triggers this last breakdown makes me feel better about myself, as if it was a respectable reason to go crazy.

dear post secret: i resent sentimentality.

dear post secret: i know i do not want to marry and that, in the distant future, i want to foster older children. but i believe that i will marry and birth children of my "own".

dear post secret: thinking about suicide doesn't comfort me anymore. i panic when i think about it. i regard this as a major step toward maturation.

dear post secret: i don't want to die without seeing my mother's dreams come true first.

dear post secret: my mother and her "companion" have been together since 1995, and i still can't make eye contact with him. he freaks me the fuck out and i'm not alone.

dear post secret: i compulsively repeat (e.g. listen to the same music over and over and over and over and over).

dear post secret: i never draw anymore. it causes distress to even think about drawing. i only like painting now.

dear post secret: i experience satisfaction out of watching my blog-hits go up, and i write more when i'm not satisfied with where they're at, in order to raise the hits. it causes me to wonder if i'm a closet-capitalist.

dear post secret: i'm afraid my sister is going to call me out on my laugh being fake. i can't tell.

dear post secret: i need to consider accepting i'm probably "chameleon-like".

dear post secret: an old friend called me the other day. i let it go to voicemail. i feel she only gets in touch with me to announce wonderful news about her life, and i could really care less no matter how much i tell myself i'm happy for her. when i listened to her voicemail i detected she still hasn't changed, not even a little, at least not in the directions i had always hoped she would. i couldn't decide whether to call her back and be pleasant and seem fake to myself or just not call her and seem like an asshole to myself. i've decided not to call her.

dear post secret: i'm more comfortable with the idea of revealing everything ever about myself to strangers than people i know well.

dear post secret: i'm jealous of everyone and everything.

dear post secret: i don't see myself ever being a true buddhist because of my commitments to being ridiculous that i just wont let go of yet.

dear post secret: i mostly don't care for "modern" art or poetry because, as i'm always assessing everything, i almost always conclusively write it all off as laughable, forced bullshit.

Saturday, December 20, 2014

i don't know what it is about new experiences that i imagine they're going to be completely cleansing. that i'll just go places, smile, meditate, eat well, have epiphanies, and read books in a mere few sittings. my abusive lover the inner-demon follows me everywhere. i'm staying with family in what's kind of like a mini-portland, and i love it so much more here. and i keep worrying i have to keep an ear out at all times, so they'll sense that i'm doing that and this will stop them from talking about me behind my back.

dear post secret. for a long time, i have been waking up at home when my mother and brother are getting ready for work early in the morning just in case they start talking about how much food i'm eating.

dear post secret. this substitute teacher once brushed his crotch against my hand that i had raised to answer a question in second grade and he was ugly.

dear post secret. i continue to live in fear of sexual things happening while i'm right there as if i'm invisible. sometimes i cough when this is happening to remind myself i'm there to get it to stop, and it doesn't.

dear post secret. sometimes i smell semen for weeks at a time.

dear post secret. i feel disgusted with myself after i masturbate and just roll over in hopes of sleeping it off.

dear post secret. for years i've been masturbating to my ex-boyfriend who i firmly believe is dead now sexually abusing me. it's the only thing that gets me off and i fucking hate it. it also makes me doubt i have an imagination.

dear post secret. not having invisible friends as a child also puts me in the compromising position of doubting my imagination.

dear post secret. i was raised in front of the tv. i don't want to hate myself for it anymore.

dear post secret. orgasms are underwhelming and feel kind of weird. i blame meds for this.

dear post secret. i believe i've made most of my memories up except the ones i don't shut-up about. i don't shut-up about them because i at least kind of believe they happened.

dear post secret. my self esteem is so low that i hate myself for hating myself not that hate exists.

dear post secret. i don't believe anything except the self-hate.

dear post secret. i went absolutely apeshit on two people this year and apologized to one of them. the only reason i did was because i didn't want the opinions of people who saw me to change.

dear post secret. i listen to music when i write to inspire the rhythm of poems which makes me feel like a total plagiarist.

dear post secret. i never talk about my most traumatizing experience anymore, but the worst part about it was that there was no escape. the second worst part was i was terrified for a while after it that black people hated me.

dear post secret. my last two GAFs i saw were both 55.

dear post secret. the only reason i wanted to recover from my alleged anorexia was because i believed my inner dialogue would improve. it never did. and i still don't believe i was ever "truly" anorexic.

dear post secret. how stereotypical is it that i can digest sylvia plath, anne sexton and virginia woolf better than any other writing?

dear post secret. i feel inspired by the pain of the middle east.

dear post secret. i feel inspired by the pain of africa.

dear post secret. my nickname in first grade was crybaby. i have been a crybaby my whole life. i tried to quit a few months ago but gave up after a few weeks.

dear post secret. i question my reasons for my "humanitarian" acts.

dear post secret. i don't identify so much as an addict as much as someone without boundaries that are "supposed to be obvious".

dear post secret. when i'm in public i believe someone is going to try to reach out to me on craig's list missed connections.

dear post secret. i heard depeche mode in toys "r" us yesterday.

Friday, December 19, 2014

wait for it, fellow disney fans

does it matter
that you do not see that woman

as the type of woman to

raise her own baby?

that's a little heart sick of 
pumping oxygen and

claims it knows hate

you're crying yourself to sleep 

you're only hurting yourself
why hurt yourself

you just love these memories
of people paying attention
to you

so you push them away

it is stormy as you
swear it is, though only the eye
of the eight ball can see

and you.

secret of you known to
all but

breath of fresh air
for all but

give me sustenance so i may
reject it all over again

Thursday, December 18, 2014

trim yourself
from your excess

and be it

wrap your god around it

god into it,

the swirl
big earth storm

you are to always go
spin around what

you are made of
and the earth in this.

it'll tell you itself


this is that of purpose

huge motorcycle roar

what are you crying
over now

oh eye, i trust you to
be kind
must you expect me to
go on like this?

must you expect me to
go on like this?




Tuesday, December 16, 2014

i'm afraid to ask google********personal00?bc /not see *crickets* (key word 'not see*&i really do want to be all alone i really do. i reallydo want my life to be a total joke it really is all for attention and anexcuseto feel badly for myself

and the people say "no" to me when i say that
and try to tell me otherwise which means

they are not real
because since the truthis real i give in. my name isjoke lady, bc this isn't a funny. he he he he he, a fortune. "you'll wind up in either a group home forever and ever or pilgrim state forever you need stop trying to not rot away you're not good at preventing it!
"don't you know life is good? don't you know people care about you?" i still want to punch all the people including doctors that said this to me and tell them i'm going to make suicide impossible just to get them to shut up i'll commit the unlawful i swear.

my best friend is going to move beyond the mountains one day. and i'll still be here. pretending i know things.

Monday, December 15, 2014

things my body tells my mind

how about you get me out there
how about your objective change
from more than just exposing sunlight
to my calves
and to my forearms
more more more

how about you worry about carpal tunnel syndrome
how about you stop eating like you do
how about you eat like you used to

apples and baby food and leafy greens.
put me in the yoga pants,

i know you're going to.

go in a plane and scream "bomb".
monster on the wing.
dance a dance that mimics fire.
open sideways at your eyes
the litter needs to be changed

let the guinea pigs roam the living room
suction cups piecemeal away at the paint there.

i dream of chaos and failed attempts at

i cheated on it.

Saturday, December 13, 2014

a dedication for daniel johnston from 2011

i saw christ,
& bored. he didn’t look at me.
it felt like i was
in brooklyn.

went home. devil
had let himself in, spare key

was under doormat. he skinned
my body off
me & i knew

what i looked like,
no longer
vicariously. no more guessing

Friday, December 12, 2014

what do you see?
a clown? a drag queen? an exhibitionist? an attention addict? a whore? a little girl in mommy's makeup? baba yaga? a maimed easter egg?

i have looked at the sun westward and i celebrate the sky

Thursday, December 11, 2014

a mushroom can be a blow
to the body

solemn biological cessation
o holy night

(feast on me i smell like play'doh)

the perfect day
blind date

blithe and dangerous union
the flamboyance of dopamine

year 1950 AD- it's
the end of the movie, darling.

let's get married

because neither of us know that i'm
a panther

a whale song
in the seagull's ocean

a famous person

you see a blow to the body masks itself
exhibiting quite some talent- i

confuse the blow with
the event that linked it to me, itself

i call myself the names i
overheard in the womb

mommy i am in you. stand your ground.
once again, i
yearn nutrients.

you are the crag i
play tag around
chasing my shadow until

i say "safe".
the sun is setting is why
i know my shadow is gonna go when the sun
sets is why
wonderful baby in red bandana sleeping
womb of wonder woman

off in the deep-end when nobody is looking
half drowning
half clawing crusader

eyes an inch long

eyes elongating my face


matter of fact i'm out of high school

the word "saucy"
wratched choked
ten toes

heaven is clouds over japan.

heaven jr.
korea-clouds weakly hitting on me
we're the opinion-trance
spirit says bruce springsteen
spirit says unfathomable childhood
spirit says time out
spirit says attention seeking behavior
spirit says you just thought "i don't mesh well with this is why"
spirit says you didn't have imaginary friends

therefore, you are not imaginative
i mean, that's just a given

the equation is simple.

you had a choice but
you wanted the real deal. real-life people.
o sappho, spirit says she raised you with your mother.
you still live under her roof. you admire

her crazy-meticulous gingerbread house.

spirit says "thank you" for cleaning, but
she's happier you've loosened up and become
less strict on yourself.

spirit forgives you for being a dick when you were little.
you made up for it by softening up later
in the nursing home.

spirit says you need to go back there

since you like that atmosphere
turn into mary's little lamb all soft and sweet

you militant little monogamous ouji manipulating
tension breaking pro censorship pro life pro marriage pro
trend riding pro voting pro tobacco industry pro

drop to my cranium spirit is an
apple in my belly anti-contempt

chick chick chock click clock kick kick
feather-trace keep calm if you can
chicka chick chick dick

be smart don't look back
i hear wal-mart sells cotton balls stretch them
around your

stretched young body
green colors must be the forest
nice guy mom dad i introduce you both
white-blue eyes crayons little
limbed-eels squiggle zap

clumps of sea bubble bubble
tongue of shit
shooting light-bulbs

baby carriage electromagnetic sprites
i'm going to die in france after my
sugardaddy buys me a pony

rest in peace it's your turn to
choose the colors to paint my room with for the first time in my life!
i'm sixteen, four years since my last
slumber party so it's about time

purple and lavender
every one of my friends has purple and lavender and
we all get our periods at the same time

purple and lavender
purple and lavender.

we empathize with each other like
purple and lavender.

happy happy bucket of mystery-flavor
crystal ball ahead in the future,

i'll cause havoc with my half-brain, remind me to.
monarch butterfly
remind me

tortoises live 'til like one hundred years of age

canada remind me

committee sufi

i was on larry king again. again, AGAIN. i made funny faces at him in yellow lipstick as usual. this time i was representing my new "apolitical" movement. people who disowned everything from our cultures to the colors of our skin in order to be absorbed in truth. we were also re-instating what "peaceful" means because the words "peaceful protesting" being thrown around so casually really bothers us since the word "peaceful" is in it. i'm seeing an awful lot of act-first-talk-later lately. if you meditated on it, what is peace? you meditated on peace? you it?
throughout the +06 hours i thought about it yesterday, and an additional handful more today, not a soul in the group including myself could come up with a name for ourselves. it's because we didn't need a name, to be identified. why do we need collective titles at all times? throughout my series of interviews, we would switch up who was who to represent us and at random, not claiming a leader because that's not what we were about. since all opinions are of equal worth, we were free to answer tough interview questions how we pleased without losing respect from our colleagues. as i say, "everyone poops".

this is a fantasy. a fantasy is something i tune into when non-fantasy is asunder. it always is.
yesterday i turned to fantasizing when i became angry at myself over not focusing on reading. and again, at sucking at art. today, today, after reality became a little too heavy to believe in again and totally behaved like the end of the world, i turned back to the fantasy again while cleaning the bathroom, attempting to watch movies, creating a new makeup scheme, and painting. i wave the white flag. "i can't focus." now what?
people brush off fantasizing as a mere maladaptive coping skill. i would like to suggest that as i flip out and feel demoralized, fantasizing happens compulsively and can even lift my mood. it's powerful. the poems that i share here are by-products of fantasy-trance.
i don't accept myself. i fantasize i accept myself. really, i don't know when i talk if i'm lying or not. maybe i do accept myself and just don't know- or perhaps secretly do know but pretend i don't. the safe thing to do is to assume i am, at all times, lying- although parts of me believe myself, and i'm pretty sure they're all from the peaceful committee, the big voice says i am lying. it hates me. i'm not sure what i did, but something pretty damned fucked up, because it's very resentful.

it's a splitting headache. one worth moving away from.

people like me were built to grow up into major disappointments. either that, or we were meant to face that challenge, and put ourselves through the pain of pragmatism to prove that we can break the rules better than anyone else.

Wednesday, December 10, 2014


you're not a christian genie
you're an electric eel

show me that diploma while you
congest the streets-

the only rebellious act left is
taking space in your sanctuary.

i've got anxieties

so tell me good things.
throw only bad things in the junk drawer

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

committing crimes

panty hose
change in appetite

down in the delta

hang up dial 911

identity never existed. and

love doesn't exist any longer-
people tortured the feeling.

don't cry

we will dance and dance and
respect each other


everyone will go to this party.
harmonica i am ready o your
shooting pain my lord!
we are the terrorists
the pawns
as well as the pacifists


cluck cluck cluck cluck

to the honeymoon i
remember clearly
even more,
the wedding song

can you spare a moment and
recall me?

marriage is an indoctrination
but it's so old that

it's a part of us now

i'm against all i yearn for-

the hypocrite
twitching husky-eyes

innocent people

the old man knows

Monday, December 8, 2014

coping skills for when you know everyone ever is trying to kill you

look pretty. makeup is indicative of happiness. remember
the word "noisemaker"
because you see one
after three days of stressing your brain out over it. celebrate your
three-week no-cutting anniversary
by continuing to not cut. don't watch tv with mom,
because you don't feel like lowering your
standards just yet.
improvise poetry on the computer. link together
words that feel very specific therefore important
and remember one day you'll consider
yourself a poet like superheroes wear
briefs outside their spandex pants.
torture the people that love you with text messages
that don't directly say, "i'm wondering
if life is just a little too heavy yet boring
for my liking"
but say "what do you think about my surviving?"
apologizing via text is lame.
they'll tell you to go fuck yourself later
even though they would never
to anyone
you'll get it out of them.

they'll thank you for the favor.
and then it'll be your turn to tell them to
go fuck themselves, because it's likely
you were just unconsciously testing them.
don't have a cow.

feel good about yourself that you don't have an i-phone.
you do have an i-pod, but
it was a christmas present
because someone stole your previous one
which was also a christmas present
and there's only one band on there that could
potentially make you look uncool. REM.

it's not like you walk around the town with earphones in.
it's not like you don't realize shit.
it's not like you don't hear the music already.
it's not like you walk around.

don't title the damned pointless manuscript. go
to support groups where you're probably just
trying to get attention, because you can't tell when
you're lying or not.

wear pigtails. dress like lara croft. fuck up
your ankle again. refuse to cook anymore.
little alphabets
and music box notes

saving the world,

idealists are fat-eyed with
balloon thoughts

o they believe they're psychologists.

like my sparkling water-
frantic bubbles-

my temper loosens its beads
drops its "g"s and

my tongue licks a path in the snow

decorates christmas trees
loss of my last baby tooth

fizzle into babies
my safe place

my first kiss
this goal is my greatest interest

come, halcyon days. i said come.
paw. other paw.


o i am a
glow in the dark,

that wants to look over the
homeless teens.

if only they knew they had all this
mystifying power over me. they'd

feel better about themselves.

then grow up and shrug
it off.

if only they knew
that i think their inner-beauty
is astounding. if only

they listened to my thinking!

superheroes are

fated to know better.
in my smile i see teeth and
very good acting.


pick flowers
hungover on

our calming romance
the new baptism dance

i indict you
over and over again

you smile
as if it means nothing

make it mean something
make it have meaning

are you mad at me?
bleeding my thank-yous
out of "respect"

you the body which is not
you- we spit on it, it's me

i've got you, babe.

have you got me too?

soon we're cocoons and

imagine eternity- the royal family

what we are going to be.
i will see long girls
and not much else.

i'm tropical my brethren
my brethren we're islands
distanced nature-ideals
encapsulated and sent

to the moon to be mined

go indirect.

have it in you,
the nasa-man's
take-off voice

then clear for landing.
bite for a bite.

body heat for body heat.
the fruit label, the fruit-skin

chewing with your mouth
open i spy

beet staining,
off with your gloves i turn you pink.

i'm happy to give this to you.
how tired i have been

mastering the craft of learning,
in transit

ping-ponged betwixt cacoethes

betting at the race tracks
while my ass is whipped around them
and i'm on my hind-legs

on my soap-box

i've seen the sun rise and
i've seen the ocean,

i've seen tv and i've
been to concerts.

i have seen myself look at things
for long years.

my mind, your body.
headless in public

you are attention
you are your world.

at top speed we grow then part-
to miss our appendages

we'll never get over.

hugest priority, shut down
and tear away.
every morning at 5am i wake up
to make sure
that if my mother and brother

are in the next room
talking about how i eat too much

then they'll never do it again.

light meets light; prism
calls on itself.

the earth
paints its bodies

he/she offs pig's blood for satan
calls it a day.

say grace.

over the patio furniture i
burn my clothes

worthy cause
moshing while processing

beer belly
elephants facing windows
santa rituals

restricting then
backing away

do you see the women
touching each other
for money

kundalini strikes again?

over my head
and to the moon

Sunday, December 7, 2014

georgia flight- pay
your mermaid

taken in the bathtub
blankets and injurious

sugar-leak- sweep
the overdone

wishful thinking,
the balloon-heart, proud
to burst

blow of state

on the flight it is funny.

guitar-pluck and lighter-
click; window seat

my reflection says
airplane crash

separate and
hide behind tabloids.

99cent store.
beetle on his back. karma
to flip.

i'm good at roses.
red leaves and alabaster,

ride away south
to haiti
on your inhalers.

not the canadian geese
in the school yards.

is it a shooting star night,
old and skinned

state without streetlamps.

the frontier calming
sound of crisp-smell.

please watch over me.
glide the floor, i step

season of lanterns

uphill the zoo
confused animals

who aren't ever truly
in the first place

toss them the food
tell them

it is meat
slurp the baby down

just like you

organized unconscious
sonic light-hit

beaming blossom and broke
here is god

all else
sound asleep and fond of it, o

get me dreamless

Friday, December 5, 2014

malinger.              malingermalingermalingermalingermalingermalingermalingermalingermalingermalingermalingermalingermalingermalingermalingermalingermalingermalingermalingermalingermalingermalingermalingermalingermalinger


Wednesday, December 3, 2014

get past
the front door

the world is always
going to have you

"thank you
for the blood" it'll

the world is
always going to have
a wreath on its door

it is
a crazy-straw, cornfield

raise your ground

not once in your life
have you been sick

you are full
of styrofoam


toot toot

carols and me on the snow
little child looking into windows
locked out- where ever
will you go? is it
not cold?

i shoot upward!
the birth of jesus carving the moon,
putting our unalterable ending on hold.

happy baby
hundreds of past lives, prime models
for bettering
'til i can find my center.

next door, always

mumbling of prayers

the stories in the king james bible
inspired by these prayers

than than
disfigured as the center of a tootsie pop,
all chewed up.
surrounded by an army of flies.

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

ivy-creep up houses
matter mutating

i like this evidence

hydra-steering o all three us
get along

eye of the caregiver:
countless soulmates:
"do i know you from somewhere?"

countless lives-
soul undrugged i
swear this

water we embrace
is sweet

how weird
and always, reminders

it is built as this

cry for ferguson no. 02