Wednesday, August 22, 2018

first look

i saw you for the first time

you were pressed against the inner wall
of your mother's womb your forehead
meeting the dark

your eyes were black circles without sight

they brought your life to me
on a colorless screen
at the sound of your heart

i could make out your mouth
from which i pretended a faintest

they pointed to you
                                your feet held above
head     blocking clear view of the spine

the first disobedient act

they told me
                     here are your
hands your feet your legs
your arms your lungs
your intestines
your ribs

i watched your profile obscured
by machinery and graphs
                                          numbers and name
removed from the reality of
                                             fingers lips nose

i was left on the outside removed

i was left to be propelled through
time and space
                         confronted with your
burgeoning life

their proof was a starmap of your every
inside every outside your every
your future place

as evidence they gave me
glossy images of your bones

Tuesday, August 14, 2018

rain drips

each blur drops from sky
reflected in its obscurity
the last day

a puddle to the past
threatens to boils over its edge
memories like sandbags
struggle defiantly in its wake

a trail turns off the rocky peak
taking with it the lives
seeking to challenge its fragile

Monday, August 13, 2018

standing along the road as cars pass

headlights rise like moonlight

over the night
                       illuminating the trees
that shadow          curve around each

wrong turn
                   the violet metallic tint of the car
marries the starless sky

the cityscape in the distance
                                              the effortless

                 the dome of the world contracts
the vacant universe

a rush of gasoline fumes

the nothing earth

Tuesday, July 31, 2018

old memory

i might have left it

where i am go
ing it's like a deep
static tv green

you don't see those much

that purple wake
in green static

where i might have left it

but i am unsure how to turn the

you don't see that much anymore
apart from the zenith repair shop
on bishop avenue

where the old static dies

and where it was left
when i was gone

all green and purple outlined
in yellow on that tv screen

Tuesday, July 24, 2018

Lake Effect

forward     the image groan
die above 400 feet of valley
they flooded it 100 years ago
buried in 39 seconds

your     blueish skin
resembles sun painting the sky
against the gray waves
the cliff side is empty
it sends your blank face back
the rocks are a mirror
reflecting the other side

death     is aluminum
a toy above severed trees
their stumps are green graves
that become eyes as you pass
the lake an open mouth of god
meant to swallow choke and moan

Monday, June 25, 2018

into which i happen to go fuck myself

names in light of lottery
    legs into a hollow stew

after hours
    hanging nights     beside my bed
cried in the bathrooms

echoes off     dirty tile

a beige puzzle of wall
     bandage it over with mandala sighs
the lines have sweated
faces dented          rewarded

a steaming nirvana     over the toilet

flush     this many times is what I've dreamt

painting graffiti washing stickers

with my vomit

Wednesday, June 20, 2018

and some of the coins were black


a lot of people pick up your change in the street

you've suffered for those many


a fucking multitude of pain

children in cages are paint by numbers

the scene

                 is enraged

my money is on the subtle march of time
and you say who gives a fuck

we got guns
and an invitation to a barbecue

charring the bones will rid you of the bodies

and clear out the stench

a mouse carcass on my stoop
                                                impregnated by flies
it looks on a map like your full hips
your round lips
                          your bulbous shape

I vomited on it
                         before I cleaned it up

I fondled the coins deep set
in my pocket
                      I just now

remembered to wash
my hands

Thursday, June 14, 2018


when i drink from the fountain
my hair twirling in drain     pushed by tides
     i see     i am kept alive
taking sustenance like livestock
corralled in my squared up     world
kept hydrated     perpetually working off of
pulling like from plumbed water
drying my every     eye
peering into the mortal bin
dripping into pipes
drowning     sip for sip.

Monday, June 11, 2018

Acid rain on sand

I'm a gecko petroglyph
drawn by meat puppets
through the southwest
American desert heaven
drinking dry rain
eating mother marshmallow's

Saturday, June 9, 2018

...that water'll get to ya

The birthplace of the atomic bomb
a can of lifeless Arizona ice tea
the mushroom cloud of hydrogen gas
burning the retina of the atmosphere
rising at slow motion detection
the native fungi of the america continent
national lifeform of the cause
a marshmallow Armageddon
released in the breaking of a tab

Friday, June 8, 2018

I love your gray cat what-s-his-name

what's the name without his legs
living in a tree stump in kesselwood forest

there are no badgers on the east coast

they haven't emigrated
                                     but enough about
me and what in the hell is it like to climb
below the cavern walls

probably in 1983

first time I noticed you by the tin can water fountain
banging on the corrugated sides

what's that material
                                if he's talking about plastic

I wonder why?  there wasn't fuck to give
to dead things because you'd have to bury the whole fucking thing

poor quality static makes everything
stage-like played through tape on a VHS

what's gotta give name on the fanzine
to cancelled children's programming

this place is not the gig it's the aforementioned before

chain-link prequel to the fence bitten through

what's it like to chew on the thing
to swallow the broken tubes

fuck if I know about any of this
of any of this fuck if i know

Super group; or semi-colon

can;t drink on the j;ob

fuck in buttered rice

it doesn;t exist; this character is like

the end of the world

the instruction booklet
is a training regime; sucking up the nail


fuck the laugh track in the live show
the audience is a bullet in the cock; farming

is a fictitious waste
spilling out the humanoid power plant

stumble upon it; put the nee;dle on it

play the spinning flat ass earth

you can fuck with the midd;le; you can die

great text messages

Drawn lines; or drainage ditch

your pencil runs down the page
marking the journal for removal

a wide angle X

but drawn like a seat belt strap
pulled over the eyes

there were none

they go

there were none
                          without two lanes

not a car drives by
built like a trash truck
to pick up the razors
left rusty in
drainage gutters
cemented into street

not a hand turns
in any aspect ratio

not a mouth mimes
where'd it go

Wednesday, June 6, 2018

the cat watches you shower; or soap

your face makes puddles on the floor
in them i focus on your shadow

i am naked

from offscreen the tiles
collect moisture
from undeath mold
prepares its growth

i am beyond my time of death

your presence draws water to the bathmat
on it i place my distant feet

i am removed

your shadow follows my dried corpse
when we enter the room i turn out the light

the bed will take its most solid form

the cat will watch me sleep

Monday, June 4, 2018

Maggot; or one coat of paint

They tell me

Paint these walls white
when I'm done

when I do I see maggots
writhing in rough spaces

When you wipe your finger over them
leaving trails of caulk and smooth

You smother me in their bodies
I watch them replace my teeth

Biting into the walls
despite of myself

I plant them deep