Too Fast Blink It's Over

God you've got hot breath you
are a tiny painting kinda girl in
stupid little boots but I buy you
drinks and hope to hope that our conversation isn't
the worst and that I won't hate myself for
fucking you deeper than anyone else for
a little while
Broccoli salad the next day does not work to
balance the scales and neither does reading one
hundred pages of my book there's no
penance for it no punishment because it
was a punishment itself

Coming is too fast

Real Life Fresh Cut Flowers

Perhaps it's the getting that is like
telling me a hot note and so tell me
the quickening in your thighs is the
only heat you feel for tea and
conversation about books or some
new poem you found in some
third floor bookstore book that
smelled like must and mites and old
wood and sliding ladder grease and there
was surely some elbow patch yellow
patchouli gradschool cock treading water
nearby trying not to grab himself right
there in the narrow aisles between the shelves
between the shelves
between the shelves between the
sheets I've come so many lives and
so many days to know the real
story about you in real
life don't
ruin it now

Church

Who would be the one to be the oneself I
cough into a crook and don't spread my
self to others I won't pool out and wet them with
but then I twist into myself and drink or
excavate and purge and bear the weight but they
all suck like breathers greedily breathing
because they were born to believe in their
Jesus and his gifts but I don't want to be a downer
and tell them their moms and dads were filling them
with horse shit

His Name

his holy ghost his hand and most of most his
toddle boyface poem laughter tearplay and my
trying to understand the life outside of me while trying to
make context from the life that traps me inside snakes and
coil discomfort penduluming into sleeping or
whatever
A lot of thoughts just dead-end
I don't know.
Why...
Project your vacuum of feel

That is the great telling of you

Christopher

Projects his vacuum of feel

Prayer

Fuck

I'm Tired

While the great unknowing barrelled on I
tensed and coiled with all of my being to
either die or begin knowing more
I struggled with what is the point I
deeply and profoundly wanted to just
die
I'm tired of war

Our Best Effort

Believing our art of space is deeply about a
heart in place a home a nettle dog a bone a
child finding she bleeds and saying 'now
I'm a woman' with a mouth of giving and
eyes for eating the earth within my earth
within my sleep within my beating tit
within a pear within a pitted peach upon the
peak of reason whose despair he will despise a
tired fire lazy warming crazy liar moonface angel
bright bright bright Jupiter of Pisces fuck
of that beating tit of that broken head of that beating
tit of that spoken said of that tongue of that wine of
his of his of mine of Joseph Israel white
Palestine of Egypt's Moses anger and the
forgetness of Samuel the River founding
fever for his brothers our
fever for guns and guns and guns and
mothers
I will have these blistering nightdreams that fade into
nothing forever and they will never stop and I will
never stop and there is only the frantic recording of
what I call history to try and make do

Daisuke Failing

Daisuke in the dancehall
told me his secret he
felt a queer warmness for
a tight handshake and eating
meat with his best friend of
fifteen years but he didn't know it
and Daisuke
didn't have the courage or the
gunpowder or a big
cock and so like a laughing dog he
pissed himself into a wind and
moved on with his
master's leash around him
Poor idiot

Still Human

Who planted corn rows in heads of dozing
angel children baby brights to laugh
and scream their dog stupid laughter in the
arms of cabbage nights whose moon is a
nightlight for scaring off the terrors with their
teeth held tight who
might plant a row of tobacco around each perimeter
because those ghosts are still human

Higher Laws

I ate a dog's heart in front of a great number of people for
the strict purpose of discovering in myself a limit
to storytelling and appetite I
didn't like much of myself after but
the dog looked incredible

It's Been Four Years

I wore its animal skin to cover my dark I
bruise easy I am stains above my stains my
knees have pains from praying for Him ob-
sessively I call it
faithfully I
want him to know that I'll bleed any time
he asks I'll give any son for him I'll
any ask I'll give
all the breaths left from now to
rapture to taste just a moment's
enjoyment of a thing any
thing any smile from my mouth to
Mom's mouth or Her mouth she's
a shovel and a club for ruining
humans just by her being she
devours some fools in her
in her
in her

Need

I became against a yellow wall I
saw a tiger of eye trust who took
London streets to trust a good feeling
who is chronically waiting
for unsad or fixing
please
God please

I'm nothing but stomach anymore

Still Waiting

I spent the time
I was a dog for time and
waves and sands of
Jennifer wisdom of
the dullest narrative until
a

Loud

What if the difference between things
was determined by headphones
between the understanding of the
intention and atmosphere

Incorrect Truths

There's a face I'm looking for
the face is everything it seems
over time I become more aware of this
or shift between awarenesses
perhaps sometimes I forget

it's all about the face,
love
as if the image contains
everything else that I need

Erotic Art

I spend time thinking about the

erotic and the grotesque and dreams of

such like fingertips pushing in eye socket like

deep penetration oh moaning prayer morning caress pulling

hair and remembering spitting in her face and her appreciating 

it and thanking you and telling her thanks to your pillows and your

mattress

A Dead Bird

I look at you often and
always fall into your mouth like
it's some fowler's snare to
snatch me and hold me to wait for
hands to snap my neck and
pluck my feathers because
you've always known how to
make me naked or basic or
immediately present

Daisuke Leaves Flowers On The Floor

Daisuke left white flowers on the floor,

placed her panties on a wooden chair

beside the door,

she came to bed and told me to

go to hell, that she would never

love me

The water glass on the night stand

beside her is always cold on
summer nights and even when

the furnace is breathing heavily 

in the middle of winter

Daisuke left white flowers beside

a picture frame on the dresser,

she never cries for our dead cat 

Sophie

Daisuke sways in the wind like a

north tree when I leave her alone

She prefers her own company

She is a quiet genius, I believe

Sorry/Not Sorry, or Ambivalence

The failing of us is that "Sorry" is the in-theory, an academic study, and
"Not Sorry" is our practical, and applied science.

Medication

I have been paralyzed lately by extreme fatigue.
I am exhausted constantly.
Everywhere but inside.

Retrospect

Burning regret or
burning embarrassment.

Tunnels

The end of the world came in a balled up
kleenex, the dogs avoid sleep like we do to
stay up and see red Mars fall on our heads and
break our chattering teeth and stab at his
meat with a fork
I fold my hands one hundred times
anxiously in the subway when they watch and
wonder what my mouth is doing or whether my
lips look stupid because any moment I will meet
Her and He will smile on me if only my lips
don't look stupid or if I'm holding my hands right and
I read Him and read Him over and until his words are
nothing and I exist in a receding tunnel and the car is
disappeared

Clinical Depression

I stopped enjoying food a long time ago
I eat now because time becomes bewildering
when I don't
I want to concentrate myself towards a perfect moment,
to sense my being not still in the now but
like a spear stretched out and pulled through time and
hurtling towards some beautiful climax
I want to die, but the story has to be good

How To Be

Lawyer's panic, the tyranny of taste, a bedouin and his cigarette, a kissing gypsy, a leaf a curse a lapsing judgement, a holy instant missed by everybody of consequence,
a slave of conscience taken in by drug dealers, a family, a flight a hungry night a taste of children with straw hair playing in a corn field next to the big house with the beautiful kitchen, a prayer for
Jacob, a song for Israel, calorie counting, today and tomorrow, lies and skinning a rabbit in the frost January 1990, I was still shitting my diaper then

I want to speak in a natural language, I prepare my hands to do work,
there's an uneasy pause before all things great, but gifts are bestowed
to those patient devoted who trust in Him,
I want His gift
Until then I'm content with my orange, the egg whites, and salt cod,
I meditate on grace

False Priest

I'm worried I'll disgrace myself tonight,
that I might fall into some clam shell and forget
my place
I can't go on waking up with the taste of iron
in my mouth, I can't go on waking up next to
victims
You said anything you thought mattered,
but I shot you anyway
And now I'll live with that, with the taste of iron
and the stains on my bedsheets

Manifesto

And I must keep you canine and protect my lineage from
your eager transformation and I must shelter my
children from your threatening curiosities and I'll
smother your literacy and suffocate your firstborn if
her skin is too pale and I need you stupid and I need you
strongbacked and I can't afford to lose you now to
justice, and despite the rationalizations of our whitest scholars,
all this comes down to is food and shelter in the shadow of locusts.

Church Sunday

To give who got a pocket stomach knot whose
little pots all cook the lot,

these bitter things I like are like a white lip secret
thrilling tips of tongues held tight

Big bear big nowhere big little big heart big
pouring jug whose wine and holy water make
a line across a line

He crossed and said a father ghost son three he
kissed me then and blessed my dreaming be and
wished my be to be a better be than his had been and
wished the beans and rice of modesty upon
my doorstep

Internally I a crafty liar lied a most elaborate lie to
gain his trust so I could
sleep so deep and deep inside the side of righteous
Sky King high

Eternally hungry but
eternally fed
I
dream this dream that
He's forgotten more of than I will ever remember.

Don't Be One Of Them, Unaware

The Universe laughs at you for trying

--

I am a lack of hours I am a no time

Your 20's

Those who are beginning to start from their sleep are
those who eat a bowl of fruit and seeds to receive a
form of flesh from him to sustain them to
play at their sports or write books of knowing and they
make their greenback paper just by eating breakfast and
showing up on time to a sort of mostly determined
bullshit

Push

When you suddenly find yourself in the middle of a large body of water, in which direction to you begin to swim?

Please Return This

Colonial red hands bread silk cotton tobacco roads and
railroads and steam from the earth and steam from sweat and
sweat from labour and sweat from tears of colonial frustration from
Indian skin an inland overwhelm or invasion or occupation or accidental
welcoming and then a great number of trees begin to fall and the salt mines
begin to scream like dogs with their profits and their loose cogs and their
tight biceps spoiling for a knocking about the ears to assert their insecure
and terrified hold on some insecure and terrified people I
don't sleep at night I don't sleep
because I'm sorry

Coal

Gently reach a thousand feet to trip on shoelace
incomplete a bitter ink a bone necklace a confederate
sabre on grampa's wall grampa on grampa's fur rug mouth
open eyes rolled back back to fuck dead it's a
sterile living room when I come to claim my little things, the
things I've always been eyeing while he lived and I waited and
he breathed and I waited until I would own a few of his things
like that sabre on the wall to remind me of the slavery of criminally
certain entitlement and remind me to hate myself for at least
one hundred and fifty more years or until reparations are made for

but it's especially disturbing how handsome he could be still
the monster

Earth Quake

The ecstatic is a faggot fuck
who loved too much but didn't know
to read enough or remember enough
whose sleep deprivations caused
memory shorts until forgetting to shave
became a daily fuck, FUCK
I stumble over myself I
am rotting my large
intestine I repent with
an incredible amount of salad in
the hope that it will
save me from cancer or the shakes but
I'm probably fucking
kidding myself who
doesn't dream of any fruit
who
won't be the one to apologize for that dick suck
who lost because of it who
hates and grieves equally who
keeps on eating so many vegetables though
who
just keeps alternating for
orgasms and whose faces
are faces of change and
change and
of change for love and for
hate and love and
optimism and fear and for
loving fuck hate

Grass

No hands
featuring ringed fingers on hands of
lead that sink into the bedside sleepy eyes
a moth dives repeatedly at its firegod
she says something about sailors and
sirens and I put her to bed to sleep her
angel dreams beside me gasping occasionally be-
tween apneas and laughing dog hallucinations in
summer grass in summer skin in fall economies
I she senses a climate shift and a crisp teething in
the push of air when she walks to school

Hands Between My Legs

Hours of auras
or a hand on a throat,
oral histories of ecstasy like
rug burn knees from so many
oral histories
If cum was honey I'd be
a cum swallower proudly but
instead I'm a cum swallower
secretly