6:26am

Gentle way of the lynch mob,
cursive apologies, loopy handwritten
tearful goodbye, cross the Atlantic and
settle into your newpurchased skin,
you molted so beautifully,
congratulations,
I don't sleep now,
you sleep with men and
women in your teeth,
does anyone else feel
how much time there is?

Compromising

There are worse things than dying,

namely the sedation some require

in order to remain alive.

Beautiful

Woman, you're more skull than hair,

the thin limp hangings ruin something

in me

And it's your doing, your trying so

hard, it only

makes things worse

Some day, guaranteed,

you'll leave us such a

withered body.

8:05am

Okay Capricorn, devour

yourself

At this point

there is little else to do

Troubling

Do you think

your love is aware of you?

Manhattan In Television And Books

So the city itself cracked
that golden prince like an

egg and every slut laughed

like some throaty lizard,

smog billowed from his pockets

every day then, and his wife was never

seen or heard from again

His hair blackened deeper and

deeper after that.

All The Time

I was not was meant for this place.

These letters are a dialogue.

The Beach

I'd rather her breast in my hand than

his breath to remind me of soil and

some decayed seagull that you found

at the beach that Sunday with so

much wind around you ruining

your hair and carrying sand elsewhere

and into my throat so I couldn't

scream happily like some stupid

dog or,

Pillowy mountain chest sweet heaving

teenager I'm so sorry my white noise

and your moaning and our endless

smoking made your asthma so

difficult but we're born with

the ghost of some infinitely

tiny

death wish and in sleep we

tongue at it like a loose

tooth or

exploring masturbation and it's

terrifying but somehow it's

better than that boring

tit in your hand isn't it?

We're not supposed to drink milk

after babies and I keep thinking about

what happens after you

get everything you could possibly want

Asshole Wolf Then

Do not sleep with those you do business with.

But, everyone is business.

So, what the fuck [God]...

Tides Are Forever

In some incredibly brief two-years,

or some fleeting eternity or

abrupt infinity, or some

skull

fucking

forever that was

over before I knew any thing like

watching grass grow in a

tortured slow fast-forward

in rapturous depression whose

introspection is maniacally

essential to everything and

everything

and everything or else

what is anything good for

god damnit?

Book of

Shut your mouth when you're day dreaming woman and

cross your legs and take your hand from your wetness

and wash it and wash Him away and put your

cross back up on the wall before the flowers wilt

and don't ever confess to what's happened here

now and be lost in forgetting this accident and

maybe catch some liquored train to pounding sleep

thick like some suffocating black cloud

or kiss or silk scarf or holy tar or

some Christ parable that wraps you in

filthy love or some abstinence that

will never be sincerity or

eat a bar of soap child or fondle some photograph

laughing until your head falls off your shoulders or

share with anyone how incredibly

uncomfortable you are with your

chemistry and meat or do nothing at all until

you wrinkle and

rust into

some

beautiful peanut to be planted

in the ground to make

a sad sort of a bush that

rasps at small children and tells

fantastic litany in coal miner

voices and

it never ends

god

it never ever ends

Seven And Thirty Seven Years

And wake up as dry as a book, I

am a hat on the hook beside

and above the bedpost not far

to reach and never forgotten

for long unless you're breathing

through someone else blanketing

them with your leather and your

meat, hands fighting like dogs in

some forever confused battling

waltz whose music is gasping

intercourse and whose conductor is

an animal in your skin who let a

book seduce who let knuckles

cow you who let fingernails

mark you who let spit

scour you who let some

gull feather elevate you to

the most incredibly fleeting

nowhere until you were back

somewhere and with me

here

under a hat

breathing heavily

Love Is a Nine Letter Word

Entertain self doubt, pity fools or

pity geniuses, what is the difference

Drink deep, peacefully hold your

tongue up and out for her

I embodied something more whole

once

Now I embody vacuum, eyes

hungrily speed talking an

anxious blood-sugar

poem

Whose chapel is a

dreaming sexual violence,

His blood is my own weeping

manhood, His flesh

preserved under my fingernails my

flesh in truth,

Whose confession sounds as though

a recipe for soup, bathing bones my

liquid fat my self-loathing shudder ex-

halation fleeting prize

Glory be to balled up tissue and

some substitution for bawling, how-

ever momentary

Self orbiting Sun and Earth, twin

torment mirror spit running stain

Pale eyes virginity collect sweat

under his massive cancer