Track edges broke in a room that’s
ice fever fever you are nothing
your bones will grind back into the earth
and there will be no mentioning of you
It is time to be self righteous
Entering, frozen, unbroken glass pivots about into statues
closets entering tracen polar limbs
The room is filled with my
darkest ambitions, smooth lines
Your little friends are waiting, cocks in hand
with purple smiles and a compact disk
so you can understand
the fingers that kept me
awake at rest on your round
belly sloppy back of your thighs raised
stalking into this crease of nightmare I
present no illusion
you read me as you will
Around—the glass steadies in synchronized
shutter As it is alive to crush the
sepulcher is to thrill trauma cracks through
the hoarse throat touching the lock
Of bleached hair makes the room shimmer
in glass, breathe like dawn and the
little friends go on probing their neurotic cocks
against swelling glands that startle them
as planned this world would
be fire but that is not real, a
tear of a page and the glass so delicate
so strummed together in grotesque longing
will suffer the bend of its card expectation
stalking with no illusions I’ll imagine your eyes
before dreaming, never act (and make associations
with the solid metal bat,

such – a long way to – travel

for me – to find – you – here!

such expression in sheer – up – blue

to empty – up – with tears!

Overthinking you

tricks you closer,

And kills Little Josh.

I hated him so,

touchy little prick.

oh that’s hysterical,

that you can have me, too,

project yourself into aberastract,

taste me only in twos.

your hand is shaking,

but nerves are okay,

because this day,

will still break, and there’s

always time, again

But none like this.

Oh I speak to you again,
I couldn’t turn it down,
we’ll sit across tables,
candle-dy don’t,
playing on down the smiles,

Oh I could ask you home
after many a drink,
tumbling up whiskey even,
not a kiss,

try it and
we’ll see
what I say.

I pretend like writing’s good,

because it’s already

bright outside.


If this is just neon,

and you are not hurt,

then dark is the color of sleep.

tongue tuck,

sure stuck,

wrapping your skin by sleep.


change the pressure,

simplicity,

you're still holding your breath.

They caught a spy in your house last night,
It was all they could do.
I for one am waiting for the trial to begin,
Burn him out of my life.

For a clear brain is all we can ask for, more than
Tight legs, mountain tops,

Because I had a dream that we were all frauds,
Jittering in our fine blue suits,
And though our eyes were shut in smooth steel,
Just waiting to be found out.

should have done everything differently

Shut Down

Dumb Town

Yes I’m Really This Numb


Nutty Pollen

Eye Clog

So That You See What You Like

no post is no post: oh silly poetry in the morning, sweating and for no reason, at all

feeling is just

the hallucination of

having

choice,


sucking up a

hallmark moment,

and filling your veins

with the future:


any day,

now.

oh jesus I have nothing more to say

when you’re already asleep

that I could take, you up in my arms?

and you could wake up,

if my voice were a little sharper,

if I, could make you, pain.

I could write a lot,
if you’d believe just a word,
even though my fingers,
find cloth and not the skin.

I could believe a lot,
if we’d decide together,

but your hand doesn’t start,

and I’m all out of surprises.

god I hate the sunrise

when you aren’t here.

god it’s all

just reeking yellow.

this sinus pressure.

and stacking and stacking.

when you’re waiting

for me

to write you back.

you are,

just an ugly turn,

of shoulder skin during the dawn:

I could turn it away,

two times dark,

I could keep

myself Together.

oh he takes them home does he.

well I could show you a thing or two.

not about the gint of her gabe.

but about that breath of yours.

Pack yourself back up
Matchstick man
The wind is colder than
you thought

Ugly hands can feel
in the wind
Troubled pulses can’t hide
their shape

Dropping it All: Such Awkward Weight: Don’t Cry: I’m Loose Now

Of all the headaches I have had,
This might taste cleanest yet,

Run through with you,
Of littlest Faith,

At Last
Something different

On my breath.

I have blood

if I have blood,

and this could be

my bone.

and you’d so like

a little dance,

If I could ruin

you I would.

You’re never lost,

even this morning,

wearing my t-shirt,

cold, as always,

maybe you hoped,

I was someone else,

when you said that,

And that’s the only

reason you came.

Oh, you have
no idea,

how much I’d like

to add you to my list

– and leave things at that

of all the headaches I have had
this might taste cleanest yet

not of whiskey and not of vodka
but hangover of the cleanest eyes