Couldn't say whether your
fight was worth the scar?
Needle point a pillow about
the time you handled your liquor;
get back to me later. I've
got a date with the girl of
your
dreams.

dress me down

I built my aspirations
cramped up in a trunk
while you drove me through
the suburbs to your house.

They were snoring out their prayers
while we were sneaking upstairs.
When we fucked, I was as
quiet as a mouse.

Oh yeah?

Pretending that we're surfing
on the covers of your bed,
while the raindrops are stuck
crying down the glass.

My cheeks are pink from blushing
while the blood in me is rushing
to regain my element
of unfound class.

Oh yeah.

The sun has started rising
while we're driving to the beach,
chasing visions like the
pattern's gonna end.

You have stardust in your eyes
from all your staring at the skies,
like painted lightning bolts,
there's nothing to pretend.

Oh.

Yeah.

first day of spring

give me a suicide tea--
over easy
        easy like a sunday morning
         hangover sunday/
 when we have to compare
 manhattan to sashimi
 because you either hate it or you
                               love it.

practicing sultan business technology,
even though i wanted to be a
house wife. when's the album dropping?
it was a joke purported to
mean when are you
due to give birth?

he just snapped, the schizophrenic,
because he knew too ma-
ny people who get
naked and climb up mountains
all the time. Tweakers, they prefer.

Jesus, who was
the greatest changeling of
them all, really liked his party
liquor, the way i like my suicide
tea, and so he was
probably disappointed
that he was so bundled up.

<<don't think so much>> you told
me when you wanted me to
settled down and sexualize.
when you drank your milk, ate
your veggies, grew up so tall and
fine
resting before you're
strong enough to breathe me in
strong enough to take me.

read me aloud

and i had to admit
to her the extent of it. say
my name to her and
explain to her that

yes, i am ingesting red today;
           at midnight i cut my finger
           sewing together newspapers
           that i wanted to wrap your present
           in with twine.  i wanted to
           put a poem on the inside of the
           comic strip, but i couldn't write
           over the colors on the pages so
           i wrote it on the obituaries.
           i don't find death very creative
           so it started with 'roses' and ended with 'blue'
           and everything in between felt like
           a prepositional phrase. then i wrapped
           the present wrong so the poem
           wasn't even hidden. i picked it
           up and threw it
           out of my car window on the
           eight east and told myself
           that someday i'll be good enough.
           i cut my finger and i licked off the blood.
         
           that was when i started swallowing my rouge.
                      They put hot sauce on my burrito
                      even though I ordered a taco and
                      asked for guacamole
                      they gave me a burrito with salsa
                      and i thought that a scene at
                      the taco shop seemed unnecessary
                      so I told my mom that we should
                      probably just go.

                       my parents have been married for twenty-five years
                                          so they got an edible bouquet which i
                                          picked through for the chocolate-covered
                                          strawberries as i poured myself a bottle of
                                          merlot and sat in front of a blank sheet
                                          of paper and wondered if i will still be able
                                          to manage to love you more every day than
                                          the day before in twenty-five years.
                                          probability says that i will have died.
                                          but the breeze in my bedroom just smelled
                                          like you.

                                          isn't it funny how it seems like my bed is
                                                               just my size--crimson and sized just right--
                                                               and then i remember how nice you looked
                                                               lying by my side and i turn off the
                                                               light and i let you become an almost-tangible
                                                               almost-figure in my almost-
                                                               sleepless night.

conversions

Here, velvet, take the left of center
kilo-metric
equivalent of the ways of your
heartfelt commies
back in the 'other' jazz age.
Humming 'murica the beautiful
--with all those space-eous skies/
eggplant colored mountains scraping
up all those space-eous skies--
you got red-blood on your
lips tracing your lips
across my lips &
i've got blue-blood on your
lips tracing my lips
across your lips;
white teeth like a
wreath made with cheats
and less than three-ing your
romantick haiku.
What it do, babby (-meant to be-) boo
i'm just measuring you
& your patriotic to-dos.
"Thank the God for the President and the
President for the God.
Ahmen!"
-- Gesundheit.

77

I'm sleeping with somnambulism 

and fucking with a hunger strike;

gearing up for the battle of the millennium 

has given me day after day of clearing skies. 

jungle juice

You could just tell me what you think.
Touching tips of gold to your
lashes, remnants, falling fast asleep
on the sofa in my living room to
remind me that happy
isn't quite the same for everyone.

My red-wine stained tongue preaches hate
just the same as my cigarette tinted finger tips
taught me how to love you back,
rolling your joints
up and down like
the red carpet,
pushed out for you
every time you take a
breath break.

So delicious when you can fuck
anyone you want
­­ – everyone you've ever wanted –
like they're asking you
to break their bones and
make them
break me
too.

Your sleep eyes
blinking quicker to see if your
bad dreams are going
to fall away;
to see if I'll wake up next to you
in a minute or two;
to see if you can tell me this
was just a
night
mare.

Body double.
She's your
Crown Victoria doing St. Vitus' dance
praying quiet to
the Chaplain for the cure to the throbs
tomorrow morning. Today
technically.

We’re onto moral qualms,
drugs, and remedies now
as they chant something
downstairs and we disappear
on the roof
into the basement of
another
red
so low
cup.

Sleep

Catatonia came sinking in when she sunk out of my periphery. 

Her and him and them together would have an oscar for the impairment of the senses -- too beautiful/can't look. 

It's a spectrum disorder [loving you] and I'm mildly moderately severe in my implications surrounding 

yes ma'am 

no ma'am 

all buttery on your lips and little charming honeybees sound like Mississippi in the summer nights. 

Months are so much shorter than years. 

Years are just long, really long, quiet seconds. 

Read me quietly and help me fall asleep. 

and it's quiet and quaint and soft and faint 
in your car

when you're pushing the pedal to say that we're 
gonna go far. 

it's warmer than you and I found that you're true 
in your car

as if all the washed windows are glasses to watch 
us go far. 

hearing your memories play through the songs 
in your car

full of minutes of nothing that stretch when we're 
going so far.

you are crystalline nature, burn diesel, when you drive 
your car 

as I stand on the off-ramp and watch your tail lights 
go so far. 

passenger seat pushes heat up inside of 
your car

and I hold/hope your hand will hope/home mine as we 
go so far. 

until then

your face at the station
on the train
in the rain
is pushing my hastings
to refrain
from the pain.

jeunesse in your lip-lines
has fallen
still calling
your prints on my hip-lines
while balling--
my heart crawling

down the tracks you
have left
me bereft.
I wanted to do--
but it's theft
and you left.

Idioms are nothing when you speak into my cheeks
and I'll love you until the scent of your breath has poured into my sheets.
Heart beats like drummers on my tongues against the sound of clouds
raining, shining all your promises until the syllabic youth is allowed.

come home

you're delusioning my notions into the clouds;

the junkies on the corners are crying me out on the streets

lithe harnessing your potions are disheartening loud

-er than your name tattooed on the soles of my heat.

 

charting time

10:22

Go hoist the blood that you're

boiling and see if you can get

that gag reflex back 

10:23

I couldn't say I do

You didn't say I don't 

10:24

Champagne pruned my skin while your thin win did me in 

10:25

Hearing about you 

like I never knew our past 

will probably hurt 

10:26

Minutes are long 

until you realize that your

life is done in a few 

minutes. Then 

minutes feel really 

really

short

10:27

Make a wish