A year Ago! Take that Sensitive Baby-Bollucks! I’ll see me Eyes in Ruin before blowing to bow You Again!

Roughly a year ago:

(in all seriousness):


I am miserable

and I hate
writing

the fucking word

- miserable


(palo alto ha ha hahaahHAh! CALIFORNIA)

we're no good anymore
you and I
We know too many
of these little looks

I can feel your tone
when you pull at his arm
as I know what you're waiting
for me to say

and on the 20th of september, rushed through and FORGOTTEN

If distance is a trick – of what you expect it to be

And Proximity has no texture
Other than what - you've felt - Before

And all you have at death – are the stories
You've told yourself – to fall asleep – at night

And money is worth only – what you give
– to protect it – as it determines – the scales

And I have changed and you have changed

I'll take my little chances – with no great cause

And leave you –
The pressure of such – little words

boiling on low
and eyes still
surprising

On the street I pull my coat closer

The morning
doesn't smell
like it should:
wet oily eggs

And I'm still trying
to close your eyes

Peel those abrasion
Downs

against stomachs

are just tall glass

taking you up in the
Blood:

Bad for me,

rock-hard Sleep.

tumbling for words -

gets stuck


fumbling in morning -

is sick


The sky can't be

all this blue


And all these

people, moving

this doesn't hurt
like the first time


though the second was
just sleep and wake,
month and month


we'll part after a hug
or two, a turn, you know
you still have
chilling eyes


And I still can't stand
the flesh
around your hips

itch comes to push
on August nights

if this isn't dust
it must be sky

- or smoke says
my little skin:

burn the money

crisp little tendrils

because you
care so much

after - rain
the streets have not
yet healed
to any
sealings of fricitives
the air - green
wet gasps of
thaT last breath

before sleep:
trying to stay
foot-touched
heart-held
before the rising
heavy
Earth -

wait to touch
that skin
hanging

sundiced
and smooth
tan

all the way
up
was worn before

your
bristle-cut

september can be a month of silly angst, too - though I promise I'm not just trying to bring you down,sweets,you know I'll do anything to impress you

Your touch is

All this powdered sugar

up my nose

and disengaged concentration


- the inability

to sneeze


Don't give in to that stomach pang

little boy

Against -
Stomachs

Are just tall glass

For,
to,

take you up in the
Blood -

bad for me:

rock-hard
sleep

your touch hurts

something deeper than blood


but your eyes

shallower than bone