Thursday, June 22, 2017

i grew you: duet.

my involvement in accidents
is a little

eeeeeeeeeee
for me.

what's happening right now is
that's me disappearing. yes, one can disappear further

than they already have.
i do it when i need myself the most,
the fat that breaks my fall.

she's burying herself past
reception, into winter, pretending
to be an iceberg
until convinced.

it's safe to be where praise is unheard of.

i am the satyr
whose scent she does not trust.
it's a shame this is the only hymn
i'll ever know.

Monday, June 19, 2017

"i knew that as long as i didn't confess to murder, no one would know. there was incredible and increasing pressure on me to confess, so i had to learn to dismiss my own thoughts and emotions so i could stay alive. if i was strong enough to do this, no one would ever catch me.
"

Sunday, June 18, 2017

auras.

cherry, the overfelt red,
is on
overdrive: "me and stacey

go everywhere together."

high hopes

that my lover, horizontal line, a
former paramedic,
will notice our son has his eyes. high hopes he will return.

tongue has left sesame street. not to say
i swallow
my young, rather, he matured past me, repulsed
by his relating to me, and left.

we put a spoon on his naked body to
keep him warm through

these harsh winter nights. it got me to stay in place, underneath, birthing a
new wild animal everyday.

“thou art not mine,” i abandon
each of them, each, a cop, upon

my ritual i've got worked out: trust fall to the floor
with a socialist salute.

i've learned to prefer the company of tile.

Saturday, June 17, 2017

color wheel: black.

there are only so many animals
i can turn into
before all that's left

is revealing
real
self
as
monster

Tuesday, June 13, 2017

this smile
is one that's modest

a sign
of health, or, worthwhileness.

true blood and vomit mess, not
like how we believe

such to be;

this is a tattoo i regret. i resist
more happening to it

other than its own echo. a dream wife's religion

centralizes
betraying shape of expectation.

Monday, June 5, 2017

waste.

maybe i do not see god
as i expect myself to
today,

my relationship with the trees
frustrates me. it mirrors

myself the wall
that is the only thing i know.

the face of god changes even
into those whose medicine
i overlook:

i do not escape waste, not
this time;

succumb to being
a belonging. this too shall get something to begin.

when the sun comes up
all reveals itself as illusory.