Reasons Don't Come Home

Julia’s throw-the-keys-out-the-window walkup

Wet rocks very dead violets and B.O.

Neil Young’s Greensleeves low-to-mid

Cop a ‘shop of me skiing for my

Funeral doin the Melo triple temple-tap

Sounds of your girlfriend carving duck not

Just dead but not yet alive

Frontloading the purse of a sow’s ear

Backending tipsy topsy sludge, demon

STOP IT collating lemon ginger

Seltzer in the anysex watercloset

Heartbreaking omens organic like the planet

Out here mane steadycutting

Skidknee bender packingtaping Big Mario’s

Boxes out the stairwell we’re

Tripping and shining calling me

A prick no one shuts up their curtains 

No what the’s from my ducal yurt

With dank twat at least at times it knew me

Ride Blade on Curb

little ass maniacs never know

how to regulate formations,

liberating the amassed energy

both subtle and gross. they say

the swampy look is already back

with a heavy list to part: cultivating

informers, scenic freaks, gluts

of dry guppies and all the "hush your

mouths." in my eyes i go to lengths

for you Tryla. freezing your wiggle off,

still your tiny rocky core is ruched.

"queue as you wish" don't make no sense.

flattop fronds, kidstable bidden

hall of famers, guts & garters or 

vegetal subroutines broke smooth

jockettes and whammy'd the utmost.

kindly i caper something dissolved

phase to phase, daze for days.

do you feel like dessert yet?

whatever floats your boat is drowning me.

Folding a Ring

eye to eye but in another life. why deny a

posse life? i lead in piss. you are represented

here as a metal plate that digs and serves the

posture benchers binging Tinto Brass. you're

so pinned armageddon would be proud.

confining pools shock the wind from my

knees, shoulders back up the blest hill. Hova

inculcated jack and jill access to my pocket

crane. clutch riser Ranavalona,  i'll never blow

your play. calm your debts. sacred txts. ur

aggressively ignorant Regolith sintered into

evolving genitals so far down the plot all

you have is fizzled finales.

Infiniti Plus One

It's a number that can't exist, density making

The escape velocity greater than the speed

Of light, but when I died nobody believed me.

Take the fliers down, burners, vanilla Visas.

Masculine wiles a sitting duck with a heater

Under my Dungarees looking like Umm el Ma.

Let's create problems behind closed doors.

So she's aspirating to preen in some monastic

Alcove, slot canyons with capricious shadows.

Post activation fees yielding laxadaisy, but I

Don't do pickups. pickups is someone else's

Disembodied moans verbing over and over

Constantly in her old ass saltbox. bitch picture

How much air is in NERF, the vacancy yields

The hurt bogies loyal to the soil, people of

The path. what if I just wanted to be wanted?

Not leading to blood atonement? my dead

Friends are doing long bids in oceanic calderas;

Algal but crepuscular rays rip through and

Effectuate pageantry. they keep the

Megamonsters down there but the princess

There is me, never to reach credibility. that’s

Massive, that’s early, that’s a myth. every

Housefly of the infernal adversary. now bitch

Would you care to make an impact statement

Before sentencing? Nah? Bet.  

Little Green Men

Whom divines evil apace, feline or canine ,and these

Particular whom proclaim such recognitions put them

To flight; finesse pimps with henhouse radar flunk

Saddles over a singularity. they do not treasure delicate

Ruptures in flatness which turn beliefs, which swivel

Generalizations to fascinations. upping their wet n wild

Game weaving orange lethality where turnovers go to

Get bored, and strangelets pummel inward youth to

Seek textural refuge from mere night lights to nightlife.

Under the Bridger

disregard the cheerier ensemble accept this fondue as a peace offering your grimacing shamanic chortles feathered across infamous episodes I have to win the fairytale on stage my band was playing I emerged from a bio-mech coffin buried under hundreds of copies of Alien V. Predator on bluray autographing titties bedpost notches like graph paper splintered my heel slipping on beaver puke fear me if you dare your blush ore aerosolized straight drop this and Ziploc that minatory Draculish clinic goes tits up satiated the blondterage skedaddles to the bronzer-wrestling tan and lacerated banjaxed well you can run a cottage industry maternal chic trend dot com riling up the sex goofster in his jalopy with uncommon precedence rips off his wifebeater in the parking lot bruh got nice nips dang I check my reflection and that shit looks so fake they coulda made the graphics way better nips’ retinue a couple o slag piles may be eligible for compensation I laced their feedbags with blue blazes ain’t that a blip mush doggies mush to my inbox dingbat underlings fuddy duddies goldbrickers probably narcs I will pull your fucking card have you camped at my feet gazing coyly this is what sweat equity feels like take a lover “taken a lover” when I am mad at you where am I not I am a candle damper I text the empty void she’s already got a boyfriend cloaking her inky goulash anchorless yet fixed in bondage crouched and fascinated caged and confused dumping queso into my guitar Mike Will made this toe curler nuke the hicks with either no sideburns or extensive sideburns I want you farther than the root of the root of myself to my public conclusions but you’re closer than my inclination for solus suffering is pain for a worthy purpose still cancels rousing bouncy knees passionate impacts or near death experiences

Cabbages & Kings

Portraiture in firelight breathes and blinks

Lightness I charge you with this sign from

The rope trick to the paper chase and

Living in darker hues meatier sanctuaries

Meatier meteors rufflier rumblers

Berserker amontillado but why are the

Oysters so sharply shod there shouldn’t

Be seafaring supernaturals they’re averse

To salt you see Lewis voles would've been

Scores of swarms better but wouldn't

Have buttered your bread from 1812

Until hack wickedness cues Danny Elfman  

Hunks of Baguette

Thermostat set colder than the other side of the bluetooth

Tarpaulin, notice me on my terms: giving buccal swabs to

Myriads, and plucking the marshmallows out of your charms.

Subprimally kempting a world without end nettled medials

Rather. twerpin about, shaking beef vicinitying the food insecure,

Acing the power of generosity and honing the guilt of being robbed.

All things hard being profit, tongue cruciforms with straight

Hypnoclusive cycles of detecting echoing form, so when she

Wets the bed,  (coughing in 5.1) after missing the Chinatown bus,

I'll spout twas only spilt Pellegrino by my peanut butter cache.   

Fait Acompli

Whether or not the likeness is abhorrent, the

Foreboding flourish plays the plight of the privileged

With that fling to it. islands are still a chain no

Matter how violent the weather between them

Gets. out ur neck talking can blast a cab in half.

There keeps being tough noogies. trill surveillance

Is sickness. the twin tyrannies of time and space

Shanghai'd my shambolic, stultifying moral rectitude,

As well as my acolytes. I grew up a cliff or two

From there, sleepwalking the hairy edge of stability.

Backtrack

oh it was rich,

too rich for my blood -

was poured -

on the -

decour.

 

you killed off the food source,

source -

was -

out -

sourced.

 

living off

just living,

living off the vagueness 

and the vagaries –

of –

the sun,

son.

 

meaningfully poured,

meaningful

snatched –

from –

ruin,

ruin -

ation.

 

so can I still

can I still,

retain –

the dull –

edge?

 

meaningfully poured,

over –

the dull –

edge.

 

realizing and

realized reeling in,

a –

nicer –

one.

 

oh the edge of

the meaning,

the end of –

the mean –

ness.

 

i cannot be measured,

only –

my –

effects,

only –

waves made –

by my –

goodbye.

Rods'll Clang

Moody faint thumping from upstairs

Makes my teeth hot. intimidation

At its finest. you’re on the warpath,

On your irksome, doing donuts in

The Pantheon: piercing. knock yourself

Out bud. just let me go back to my

Serene hutment or my ticker will sink

All the way through my Campers. the

Vexation of the responsibility of

Communication overplumbed my

Endurance, my composure. I don’t

Fancy folks, namely only characters.

Fightscene

the violence of absence

dealing out days

from the bottom of the deck

immediate strangers

in the lowly pit 

of my mantle i was 

clear and rested in thought

in your presence

 

sinuously always louding

me the Kingdom of the Bed

the legs you sported

outrageous fortune

 

i could tape you

to moonlight watch

me down in possession

of no more answers

 

a bigger slight

the real gotcha-gotcha

i really thought you knew 

the difference

between heat and fire 

you will never see

the pity of my trust

do you know wave?

wave is coming.

Ago

they    are more

     like 

fir   tinted

         glasses

  fishing   out

junk   jewelry 

   backward 

through a 

       knothole

- impedimentia -

bringing  up

    the         rear

your 

   overbearing

mercy

     odorless 

as 

       neon

Access

thick recalls jutting

muddy and frostbitten, 

harkening kid days - 

proper melting memorial.

stuck on deadwinds, 

windfalls.

inlaid are lean months.

brittle notions

spellbounding,

burning out a

smoke-sized cradle,

imitating my mass.

o what refuge!

   •

sputtering into 

clutch mode,

urgency became my

diddy.

a skull full of 

houseguests

afraid of the hymn 

of you.

pikes

and crowns of battle

on the house.

way minding their 

ranking,

the bellows feedback

until higher

and more direct

passages of endearment

colonize.

o what refuge!

Worth

Red objectification is required,

Blue moods adhere to histories

 

Spoilt crowds have their temperature taken,

Fresh willingness is not surrender

 

Block frame The Other in fairness,

Sap destinies will twist

 

Dad acknowledge process,

Son progress remains unknown

 

Baggy one should be all,

Tight one is only one

 

Indistinct always use the same brush,

Limpid coarsity widely varies

 

Thew apply a virtual slideshow,

Frantic virtue is not research

 

Dangle ideologies flatten to a segment ray,

Stiff vantage points are balloon shaped

 

Bore glory is fading garbage,

Dramatic pedestals and trophy cases lie

 

Major causal models inform,

Lillipution information is not a communal enterprise

 

Dick regard evenly,

Pussy admiration manages dissonance

 

Prompt primacy is well lit,

Dilatory throes and grapples menace the vision 

 

Crisp manners and means preside,

Misty the breakdown and breakthrough corral the odes

Faces on the Wrong Side of Wet Windows

if i put my sim card under my pillow

will i get a new one

with new friends? blending with the before

like tanlines and bank dyes.

dust-obscured water moccasins tote me off -

where’s a falcon when you need one?

nothing surprises you therefore

you are never surprising.

in darkness big rocks hit made

primordial mosh pit.

oh yes, suddenly me.

 

stomp grounds and pound footprints in solid rock 

proximity mines round your building, no garden.

just perfect my domestic nomadic daily rituals,

up and down, up and down the stairs.

rim-to-rim pussyeaters draped in finery,

surrounding your building.

thirsty and dazzling.

snapped a couple dark phone pics 

i couldn’t stay the whole night.

dust-obscured water moccasins tote me off 

the new fingered prince.

you spread the venetians,

who are they?

you can’t make them out

just like earlier.

you wail,

"kick rocks you southern blocks

brimming with dildos.

just wait till the black shit inside

me turns to Sprite

then you'll see what i'm really made of.

we are not alike,

hawks eat cranes."

The Ford

did i fucking ask?

oh, i meant to.

are your nemesis qualities so chiffony?

i'm just the tap,

bubbling hard in the bloodbath

this whimage lost resolve.

 

vinaigretting the hedgerows

you've fed.

licking your papers,

turned loose on a button you absolute unit,

it feels lie there. 

cherubim straddled trestles boost the bust

monument high but there is no face.

 

i must cross the ford. 

moonlight shone off of your bush 

beaconed me right-wise

over the middle lands necropolis.

i tried to tell you but all i could say is oh

Preydar

my glare rots apples a

floating stain gripping your dreams

hammered by my reign

your husky security ripped down

to the studs now available in

tropical generosity that fucks

you and i recall

stealing stealing

now i've seen it all

To Make Way

Something like fifteen months ago my friend killed himself. I went through all the familiar stages, as suicide is not unfamiliar to me. It happens around me and even runs in my family on both sides. It used to brush with me. Those were the dark times.

 

Today I was purging data from my phone and ran across his name. His cell number. Him. It made me think of the details others have shared about calling their dead friends out of habit, or saving voicemails in order to continue hearing their voice.

 

Shortly after he died his estranged wife would answer his phone, and undoubtedly fielded many horrified people’s questions. I met her once when my friend was in the hospital under psychiatric care. She was angry with him. That was none of my business. But today I imagined that she wondered how long to continue the painful ritual of answering his phone calls. And I imagined that maybe there were callers who were surprised that a woman picked up on the other end.

 

I thought about calling, something like fifteen months after he died. So I did. I thought perhaps I’d leave a message in praise of his philanthropic nature. Possibly his daughters would want to hear that. Then I posed a question to myself: how long would I continue to pay for my estranged significant other’s phone bill?

 

I think I’d merely let the carrier contract expire and be done with it. Perhaps I’d decide to cut it off after the funeral and wake and shoving down bursting feelings, after the dust settles. Or when the dust of the loss piles up so high it starts to choke me.

 

But my friend lived in my phone, our conversations being held mostly in the after dinner hours and over the phone. He still lives in my phone. But not in his. A man answered. It was a confused “Hello?” as I still have my New York number. After a few seconds of silence, I almost asked if my friend was there. An idea swiftly flashed into my mind: would this stranger want to know that his phone number once belonged to a gentle but troubled man? One who chose to end it all, the way he wanted to? And that’s how he is able now to connect to the world, to his friends and family? Is the number as haunted as my friend was?

 

I wish I could tell my friend how my experience of him split my life into two parts, before he helped me and after. The dark times prior, and now. But towards the end that he saw coming for him, or didn’t see coming for him, he did not answer my phone calls. I can only hope that as he thought about his time here among us, he understood his impact. And now I am somehow carrying fault: “I’m sorry, wrong number.”

Sedna

you are the missing link, hello.

 

her deep wordless was major,

so at this point i'm worried.

 

i am chomp.

 

i sold out but y'know

i like to eat,

almost every day.

there is no haven in my shadow.

what is it about a locked door that just itches?

Popular Hostages

Furniture in the afterlife

Is dated and is

Not ergonomic everyone

Hovers so it's ok.

There are no

Castles in America,

And it is true that

Nothing new shall

Ever be created

That everything that

Will ever exist

Already exists in

Another form;

This painting bearing

Savory harvest brush

In my mental landscape

Is only commodified

Earth, tones and scent

And thickness from

Synthesized or unsynthesized

But bred from ground.

5x5, all day long,

I know this.

 

Confidence is easy

Without risk,

Very paradise.

I rang the midi

Bell and it cannot

Be unrung,

But this is

Not rocksteady.

Frequency warbles,

Lenses whir.

Hyperblossoming, life

Itself is not entertaining

Enough for me.

My wealth of

Sexual stored credit,

The highest owed

To me – shit –

Heavens –  let’s not

Devolve into superlatives

And hyperbole.

 

So abreast of a

Stone quarry unheavy

Glass bricks tango,

And I laughed

Even when one

Thrust the other

Into the mountainface.

Threatenized by the

Spectacle of sameness,

Of this partnership:

An ever-cracking glacier.

Best to rid it.

Unburden yourself from

Cloud nine – there

Is a tenth cloud.

It is on a pedestal

Right behind me; 

On it sits

"I don’t know you."

Zip your defensive

Tent back up.

 

A fake muse onrushing

And trying to separate

A fool from

His dollars prescribes

Me an app.

This aggregates the

Stages and glories

Of me into a

Rectangle with gloss.

Just as the

Ground is broken

And crunched into

Vibrant pliable doses.

There is a painting 

And there is

painting painting.

Go pound salt

If you’re addicted

To the struggle.

The June gloom.

Raise a barn

Or something.

I’m preoccupied by

Witches hittin switches

In the sky.

The Ruby of Warsaw

are you ever present?

basement rented

harsh realm lieutenant

are you calm you vented?

pretending your temple

ain't shrinking like pencil

if there is something here

give us a sign 

just push the coin

for us still living

chime in anytime say

something intrusive

hear me what i'm saying

normal is pushing gray

into dark gray

i hang back and thrash old haunts

dwellest thou fucking

wherever thou fucking want

please don't take her

like a marathon at night

fake moons and cut tunes 

welcome to jamrock

welcome to the jungle

welcome to bigwigs

welcome home, Patty

Let Castle Abuse and Quilt

         maybe not aged as a tree                 but longer than cousins or O.G.s.

 

                              a warm and thoughtful curse

always in the way          here to stay          never shook away

                                              patterns

corrosive thread wove  

        unstuffed uncomforting symmetry   heirloomed wino'ing

 

        sore digits                                               minutes awwing 

 

                              portal into blood dedication   

        up to chin on cold nights                      up to lips on dark days

                                                       eyesore

        tucked in a trunk                                    unveiled and pointed at

        draped shrouded                                   heavy shoulder pads

                             

                                  me and my friends are dead

                   to keep playing please insert another miracle

 

Late Shoving Penalty

i'm on my feet you sweating best runner up i didn't wear socks that whole summer you made me wash my feet that was humiliatingly holy so precious your commodity your physicality but i just want to listen to you i want to know you your everything what makes you shit and cry and enraged and embarrassed how much do you still like pasta i like your thicker thighs is your stoicism hiding bitterness is bitterness not taking me seriously i don’t care if you don’t touch me just look at me it was always there in our shared staring it is so loud it is so knowing it is so secretive it is so familiar chasing waterfalls to soapy openings now i like the tattoo i made fun of back then you look military now except your hair and you’re rolly and curly and flowy not stompy would i have behaved differently if you had told me that you were raped i want to know what makes you change your hair is it a man is it a billboard is it a performance do you eat different breakfasts when you travel does it depend on the city are you watching your weight do you need to watch your weight it doesn’t seem like it you could beat me up but i would eat you up could you change my principles are our principles aging as we are your gravity creates moonlets i lost so many photographs it was never the right timing for us i taught you how to put condoms on foreskin but you wouldn’t spit in my mouth you said come with me to the magic room your overly pillowed nest a taffeta explosion your mood lighting your rabbit warrens you’re kicking me out because the sun is coming up i want to be seen with you do you want to be seen with me we could still teach each other am i too headstrong to adapt i want to adapt i think I can do it for you but would that work we always butted heads and that was the alluring do you still talk to him i do but not that much we have this wall of whatsups but you always remember my birthday and we talk a little and you invited me up i said wonderful i try to do what i say but how would it even be if i did come up you’re busy and i admire that they write about your art and we all witness you flush and sweaty and how that’s youth but is it youth i really want because we were young but you were so cool i didn’t follow you after college like i promised but we caught up at last i think i picked wrong back then i wasn’t thinking so many phonies got in our way you never moved a muscle without grace maybe they weren’t phonies my oldest friend i could drink a case of you and i'd still be on my feet so is it me or you who’s the sweating best runner up

Free Info Real Inferno

i own shortnesses of breath, of height,

and speeding the same slick streets

is my fondness of the fire inside.

 

was ever there a woman, until it doesn’t.

 

bobbypinwheels occupy a crawl space breezeless,

harsh realm, man.

to not perform the hypnotic

only task.

 

a cunt hair from the crypt 

until i unfold

and snatch what i prayed for.

 

oh! a fresh chimera!

 

the squad

fanning out such like accordion pleating

of a wooded parcel,

fathoming fawn prints nesting

nervous urine.

prioritize this mockery,

behold this flood,

whiff the funk.

have yall got it?

 

oh but then there’s me -

untroubled unblinking stare-zeez,

i’m arrested, immobile and stationary.

teensy-weensy microbes strive to breed on

my boot’s tongue and i can’t bust my scrutiny.

 

so why on the other hand am i trippin?

i’ve reveries of nuggets in blister packs, 

and how razored can one wimless half-pint

fashion a saltine?

Bahama Brains Out

you, looker. my newest.

i say these all at once, I

want you to hear

what I deem to be amazing

and see what I feel

to be stellar. want you

to take this pill with me

and we’ll pillowfight.

 

you haven’t had enough shitty shiraz yet

to actually want to talk to these people.

let’s get outta here please.

we don’t know each other very well

but tease listen tease,

i will jerk the shit out of your arm

right here in front of all these drolls.

 

mine this time, your world isn’t so empty.

you might even for a brief moment  

think that your life choices

have actually been helpful to you

despite your drunk fuck ups,

and maybe a legacy in

your name starts with you

and that generations to

come will respect you,

if they don’t turn out to be shitheels.

but for like four and a half minutes

you’re my,

you’re my mine,

mine mine mine you scurry off now ok?

 

in my belfry

dripping softer wood

dripping even burnt on gravy,

comforts untold:

um, so, palmfuls of goldfish

and that nook behind the armchair

and calling girl teachers ‘mom’

and really short extention cords

and lots and lotsa moss

and critical salsa

and the perfect StarFox takeoff 

and big cringing makes the women squiggle

 

privacy is an amazing time.

Spill Team

I’m calling Daniel. Fuck, voicemail.

I wanted to tell him about how much water I drank today.

I’m gonna flush it out this morning. I’m completely

topping it off tonight. To what do my moods most strongly adhere?

My body? Your body? Only one love, my god! You ampersand me? 

You understand me? I’m telling it to tell him like he doesn’t already know.

Daniel and his biggest fan of a girlfriend always have

all of the numbers in the charts down

and the names of the researchers straight.

I’m dim because I thought I had thought of it first.

But obviously for an erudite, and finished,

and goal-fulfillment driven,

and fucking sublimely good-looking duo as they are…

voicemail, I’m sorry. Apologize to Daniel for me.

If he wants to drink tonight, well, you know.

You Are a Home Entertainment Center

the bonds of likely regression

strike up their matches

and judge my area code.

but i’m right there,

the bigger stone

and spreading out.

 

no, wait. still beholden to accuracy -

i’m not even 2 pebbles on a crutch

blown through a nickel birdcage.

 

your upcycled glances in the cut

you witness my vault

festooned with useless decadence.

 

the traits of night famous in death,

rumble lifers’ sabers.

what’s dark streaks peaks and dips -

architecture of a crumpled wrapper.

 

while I visit the beverage 

partial to disturbance,

partly i observe this.

bereft of all creation mists

imperfectly blazing trails

and pending a keepsake of pre-history.

 

there’s grunting glowing scaffold,

a lamp at my feetstepping.

 

the luck of order,

a whomsoever problem,

you luscious eyewitness

sicced lament on the hobknobs,

came correct

and muffled their sex whistles

Graveyard of Peed on Things

thy crotchola in the dark

misty small hours:

curly rain

and herb-lore

and glad tidings

and quieter meals.

i appraise the marsh of it,

my sovereign.

 

my earth’s nullity, her earth’s mars’s hell.

  

i don’t need to be right, i just need

to make a big deal out of rejection.

like metal on metal but no sparks.

her flouncing powerful asexual untertones,

i the scantily clad one-trick-pony squoze

the lower bound silt into elegant tents,

into doable chunks.

 

-what a timeline to be alive-

 

my pain pushes until my vision pulls:

a truckstop toughguy 

although empty as a flute.

as a reaction or choice,

a tactical demon.

 

gosh, a jejune basher

dealing only in marginal darlings

only fussily takes that nice-nice.

 

i’m young i’m done,

communally we might could junk it,

and salvage some novelty from

this thick energy...

no, only in cartoons.

Cate & Edith Too

due to adult content

former teen delves wantonly

into childish basers

 

     •

 

their gazes locked at the ravioli station.

he wondered what her taupe pantsuit would look like

crumpled down there in his root cellar

doused in Powerade.

salaciously w/o an easement,

deadly nose ring kinged

a literal type asshole. it's The Lack,

like full pallets on the back of my neck.

in the half light 

keeping outta sight

i'm the poltergeist.

     •

 

in harness furthermore,

every peek worn.

a profusely relaxful stroblit icicle

but age dims the stim digit-tips.

still, abides balmly within she,

alike with alike bivouac'd...

oops there goes her shirt

up over her head, OH MY.

 

     •

 

early bright at first blush 

exudiced plunk'd atop the terrace:

a creedo-entombed-jewelcase deluges,

wreck-wrapping a blistering Americano,

undefiling the t-zone.

the edicts now mystiqued,

anonymous evermore.

dimly uttered from the nosebleeds "jump in the line"

ok i believe you...

Cam'ron pulls up in the Pepsi blue Lambo.

     •

bitch you broke as a fetus.

i smell money underwater.

none of ur beeswax feed us

druggish and thuggish,

me and The Father.

     

 

scans the courtyard,

spanning 2 adirondacks

the tanning-bed-defrosting

beetroot calzone persperates onto a louse,

a noble expiry. 

the sameness of that

bushed leather hammock,

the scrubbing bubbles

or enduring bonds. 

 

     •

 

properly come zoomies cum zooming into the discord,

the stone-age sweeping epic mesh we mirror,

and we’ve won cuz we’re one.

loss the light and the light review.

what went i feigning GRIEF whatfor?

burnt and smothered left,

although beaming yet. 

     •

 

nothing's fine i'm torn,

never to rise above my station,

the snitch heritage.

none harm reduction paradigm.

illusion of explanatory depth.

don't you even condescend to my bath water.

all of you mere hurdles.

i blast to the next rash.

BigBrother's watching you bored out of his mind, 

you extra everything absent medium human.

 

     •

 

succeeding the epiphanic forgetting,

i palm The Lack unto thee.

i knock it off i empty i tribe

i keep it on i whisper i ego

Hurry Sundown

what fun! look at you, picking out nice things!

 

you hotsteppa 

frumpy

with a Rubenesque tattoo of ur own house.

whom brung fungal lunges,

that's how come. 

 

like the not smart child,

cushioned, insulated, bonnetted.

all that themes do delight pretend,

bittering habitually with zero hitches.

 

a sage hare steady goin potty

in a noovo West,

thither well-nigh mine 8-bit rampart

 

thou art nether my chill initiative,

empire wasted,

overtly stroking.

so my view tilts upward to the blue:

sheer yachts ablazed,

clear or almost clear,

at this point what the fuck am i looking at?

 

do unto them and do it again

 

annexed reins gulched sweepstakes

Trish niblets bi d-listed cheapskate.

Your Cranberry Defilade

i'm like,
i'm nice,
i'm crack.

still hurting the wave,
i can hammock your big “ifs” now and after now.

i pronounce you the first womanever,
wide-ruled but not housebroken.

consistently sparring always w/o jammies
traipsing dalliances
getting zippies out
urethras pinging tonsils.

 

but i'll get you back under my flag

you can bet their long goodyz on that.

The Times They are a-Different

wet n wild

hypocratic shards

wish u were here

know i am gone.

when she’s clean

the grass is greener 

the kinks are darker

other shoes

aren’t dropping.

 

solitudally i’m

ditched in ditches 

full swaled in swales

i'm that part,

to have and to bone.

the commonest thread

on front street.

 

til the stonish

new horn’d freekaleeks

carjack this girth

this kiting beef

this strength of length.

lapling accedes

lavish faille provisions.

lusty beepers

curtsy redefine shelter. 

On Blue Wraith

Temeka

a chat and a bit more ago

bemoaned, weeps including

tears puddled on the collar

swept adrift now

with a slight chin rotation.

waterworks landing

on beer-bedding,

but light and precious:

a glass figurine

the brush of fingertips

on the high major keys,

not on purposely decked out.

yet the bead soaks in.

very close.

ok very closer.

cute as.

Lude Stanchions

stripling's cajoling beseechment -

rallied tite about the VDT

 trembly fretful the declamation:

“I don’t pull out. I don’t even go in… huggghhh.. come ON!

shake your dinners or something, Treasure!"

his shire’s monitoring with downsloping allure...

"(she’s a people person, scout's honor my brooz)”.

stripling’s arduous pursuit -

the pain shoves frontally prior to fully-buffered reverie.

in unswerving rejoinders

or likely dubiously so,

his straightaway incantations a rank familiar domain.

all the more untoward,

Treasure's definotley still a thudding mound

delivered like a baptismal bash:

got wet, now awaits the revival finale

and intermisses

and paces

stripling’s insufficient veiling -

monetizing dejection

tenant couched amid the social margins.

he's not cottoning appreciably to this occasion.

should the rinkydink state bide pronto until quietus? 

oh, verve!

self-txt’d to the root of the root of this proser.

wut virtue ought he uncover to yield the griefest

unclenching of the crown,

pining still to pointilize the exhaling briar? 

Treasure wilted ca. the ribald tempest. 

There are Sub-Zeros & There are Scorpions

nettled member despoils cavern implementations,

dry-busting out i and i’s outbox walls.

tuckle i back into Read. ✓

The Yoke

wagging wire-to-wire high above

the grim plows and massed droves,

fussy your bingo boy is.

 

swinging vine-to-vine

the yoke underneath holds,

his bangtails tautly restrained.

eyes reposed his are 

but concealing the famine

within them,

buttery areolae starch his prowl.

 

a floorboard creaks

snaps back to attention

comes the conversion moment

and dawn dawns.

 

the yoke merely dreamt

unchained melody chopped & screwed

persists for him far beyond the pale.  

The L of L

hung on tightly,

let go lightly.

 

oh you know,

only a foaming softpack

on the fringe of a digital crèche,

no biggie.

 

her present barge of tulle smears my stalking tiffs.

 

hardbody if we've not lumped up in ur tender recalls,

in ur toil of covert reruns,

what a dry roster of synchro-spasms! 

in my palms,

where the sun don't ever shine,

i just can’t look at thee.

i must blank out the lurids,

oggling the corners of the ceiling more.

i’ve tipped over

exceeding the midline DMs.

you peeked and i peaked,

to carry on a brio chased.

it doesn't wane.

post-fees i bloomed unto you,

but homesick at home.

thou art nine - ten ten wins.

 

i would return to nothing without you,

if I’m your girlfriend or not.

Danger LTE

if I haft turnt away

wouldst thou still audience me a thick percentage? 

or just a sliver of a warming leer?

where rest we then where lay we then?

parading oxen to trample my sorry-not-sorries.

oh i see

a missed text.

so here we remain

with thinning longings.

Beigey Tyke Yam

tushy axons →

happy trail planchettes ↓

foreskinny node

jawlips barraging the GoPro with sputtering snarl

Bottoming

- meanwhile, at the anti-prom -

the startling ease 

the unbeatable, aching, distinct givenness of every way, now,

you picking the lock of idyll.

my mind is pink velvet funnel cake.

 

preesh, its been gloopy giggles

Cloud of Witness

Essence must remain elusive, or at least subjective.

But at the liminal, in the gap of perceiving,

Exists a space for a psychic miracle to manifest itself.

Much like an abrupt aural penetration, such as a musical crescendo,

A sudden evocation by shift in emotional latitude takes place.

I look in the mirror and nothing is there.

I might find myself languidly aching, yet patient,

Eager to feel this force, only to find that such an

Inaction disallows this miracle from being conjured.

Dibs on Bottom Bunk

my God with a big G,

the Barron

the bleak executor

my paramount sentry

please uncouple me from erratic motifs.

please teach me to clutch

grove/hive-inclined penchants.


i fancy to thumb the unexpressed,

but i’m digging ditches in subsea rivers.
crossfading in and out

wooly murkiness drown out my blessed drums.

a downers drencher

radically seeping wet-napped my gray matters,
dislodged my rancor -

the otherness of others.

my thiamines peaced out

it's totally apparent I'm blowing it.

what fresh hell -

seizing lightning’s hurried face

buried in a bucket
spewing,

a shitless piteous floor display
crown’d you parlormaid.

i hereby grant thee this dogsbody.
splayed atop the oathing slab.

stowing head low

enduring doldrummy ages of ages of ages.

holdfast now,

a Robe of Honor awaits?

He spoke, direct to my eyes :

 

“for thems thats resolved,
tumble-dried soully
i will deem this fractured outfit apt”

i knelt:

 

“my waymaker

my utmost serene mouthpiece
is my grail plenty drab?”

He heartened again:

 

“cloistered blurb o' mine droves,
wade dauntlessly amidst that

which We ensue united”

Read 1:31 AM

Gargoyles 85s

- after James Cameron's The Terminator, 1984

 

stroll'd the marrow contraflow
distopi-twerpin pyramid of skulls
burr vague landscape decayed lavish spread

artless our march,

flimsy our stronghold.
i split apart and stomached antiquity for us.

 

i'm sorry miss Connor 

i am for real.
this isn't fabulism.
childish piling it on,

demanding 
shitty camoed

my crush wretchedness

 

what cash?

what sidewalks?

what the blood, clot?

 

nothing clean, right.

snuffing bio-cuzzis

functions slain

detangling fates,
that's all he does.

 

trash savior endeavors

hock the Vandals, hunterkillers
impinging wasted rozzers' escapades
nivvel tiddyballs adjacent Spartan burgers
jurying brightness clamped my gullet
pulse-gak'd in warm gash,

conceive my totem most highest.
Tecate piñata swathe the Renegade.

Birthopinionation

the uninvited silly me

a darker meaning
giga drain puffy buckets drips

to dungeons custom cussings
crises glare his nuts he clutches
dissatisfied smears to

nothing's in the sphere

 

genesis of jealous failures

scenerio’s bananas

 

feudal character stupid me

a deepest grieving 
throwed out the USA primo

splendid themes
marble taping incompleteness 
the irreducably complex -
walk before me and be blameless .

so many goddamn things my mother -

trucks, a fat knife
mugs, a lake so still

ascended masters’ stalkings 

hover above it
dust, a pillow, must unbutton

pedestrian I stay unhero’d.

 

rang through the shrubs respect view
from the 80's golden sighs

hang between em dude.
sober tabs axkill even heathenly,

big mood inner demons swaddle even me.

Comanche Tantrum

sororized cliptage my side blogs

enricher scanlines asstecc-texts soapy openings

a toucha 'guana Helly-pellant stoker

pound meek John Wayne chain

 

what? I'm up again?

 

sir under swoll bod my great calyx sepals

gawk, the vast belly unmuted

chasing waterfalls sprayed-on members login

squillin backseat and my wood

rawdogged flange in Timbs justly crested

Sorsha, Ouida, Moogega dem

Heavenly Nobodies

fertile throngs punk your stigma
you been donged elegantly evidently,
leisure goons and tubbos dart to the c-cups.


stucknition, up-gulping pets Christian:
midsize piss-hungry leers, me, ochre.
shit tight no slack.
i want is mine.
inhale puce long into the clappers.

CandyPain

​epic minx

saga wet nurse

parabled lusty bum-bum hunny

kiss your gold bye,

mild metal, too soft.

marble plaques now

throb between these thighs

bred by your throat

in my bashful bedrock,

cum badonk thick like lipstick.

rest not pregnant reflection

on fortune’s hacked wings,

for in tallying these megaflops,

your intramurals cement lickety-split.

so, instead, hoist up your chalice,

upthrust and detangle your girthy knees,

peep the odious meat,

and receive me in places of…

i’m the harvest tangle

you’re starving for.

That One Summer Craigslist Seemed Like a Good Idea a.k.a. Nancy's Youngest Son

hardware hunny
m4w 25
(bushwick)

you’re the mixed girl that works at the hardware place on broadway.
i was in there the other day, i bought a box of zinc-plated
carriage bolts size 1/4x1”, box of 5.
i actually need 1/4x1” zinc-plated HEX bolts, box of 5.
i already opened the box
i have no receipt juddy juddy dumpling
juddy steelmaiden, can you work something out with your manager?
don’t make me steal the fuckers. so when i almost certainly get you fired, slide over to my spot and make a big scene outside my building. and don’t forget those bolts!

–over and out

babyoil
m4w
25
(bushwick) 

i need to exert dominance over a female stranger
help me flex my bulbous ego
send me a pic of ur tummy slick with babyoil 
make it nice and you’ll get a reward (u won’t get a reward, idiot)

proof is in the pudding, include these word in your snapz, 
“in dreams, the image of an animal, a primitive, or a child is commonly a symbolic expression for the source of help and healing”

–arite then

huge loser for babes
m4w
25
(bushwick)

i’m a pretty huge loser. check it out, you should give me money. i’ll treat you special even if you’re heinous. i’m seeing someone, but she’s a tame fuck. its like, how can someone whose ambition you envy, a biddy who inspires you, and who you’ve blown wads to, or over, whichever, be like, a silent receptacle in bed? or on the roof that first time...

–really tho

eccentric type art dick
m4w
25
(bushwick)

self-employed (unemployed) elitist looking for taller than me dim-witted beezy to remind me of, and never hold a candle to, a past partner. puffy nipples a huge plus. i’m not gonna be famous or anything but i do say some amazing things during boning. can we go to your crib tho? my roommate’s girlfriend is always here and theres NO WAY you look as delicious as that fuckin nerd. so that might be awkward. or piss-your-leggings-as-pants-funny. i’ll take those leggings thanks

–we’re done here

Swimming

so far, this immutable truth:

conduct directs semblance

while speech and spectacle jointly labor

singly, rarely whole

doubly, always full

in either never lacking.

 

and when matching breaths

honeyed cream arrests me 

halts mobility

spanks me to a choking gait

and missions through my piping mutt.

 

but once swayed by panting affectation

i’ve not the faculty

in amplified cogent mind

nor in creeping hinting principles

to detect any irregularities of fortune

or missteps of horoscope -

bed receive me.

Please reload