The Compulsion To Exist

 It’s been five years since I’ve written anything. 

Who do I talk to? When do I talk? Who do I talk to? Where has that energy gone? 

Do I really have ADHD? Am I just sick of being alone with myself? 

Who do I take “it” out on? Where is it going? I have so much energy. This drive shaft drives. It pushes. It shafts. It does its job, but what job is that? What am I doing? What am I doing? What do I DO? 

This Is America - In 15 Years I Will Be Forced To Eat Human Flesh Or Starve

I want to be corporeally cool, colliding in a
tangent tantrum, intellectually old, aesthetically beautiful,
good smelling, fucking warm and I want to never smell
like formaldehyde or shit breath.

Indecent digs about her in decent digs about no table lamp
in a dark room about a paper breeze, her bees nest atop the
top most flagpole pleasing salute orgasm patriot gunshot
resolute sacrifice blind abstinence chaotic good grief stricken
re-virgin when the womb sucks back in like an emptying sink
that sucking noise ripping at your eardrums like tearing paper like
your 9 year old violently fading from reality in fast forward gutshot
patriot defecate but look at the cameras while you do it

no one can tell me why they do what they do

everyone is scared to think about it

For Everything

Corn bread colour coping cold
tea teasing tenor tennis court
conquest convert coral code of
conscious everything
Quill and tendon portal for a
tender tenor television one
and one by eighty six I couldn't
and I can't be fixed I wish upon a
burning fish I wish and wish and
scream and cough I mediocre sleep
away a panic pallid dreaming day I
want to kill a money pig  I wish to
kill a money pig I vegetate and feel the
pull of raging mother body full I sleep
until I can't be found with teeth awaiting
breathing sound I eat your enemy to bone
I sit upon their stolen throne the patriarchy
bought and sold for mountain young and
meadow gold for womb in cotton blue and
pink for prayers over the kitchen sink for
baby bright and toothless grin for
sleeping in a bed of sin for
any daughter outer space is
full upon their milky face I
sweat profuse I don't know why
I guess I guess I guess I'll die I fade
into a wall of

Future Failure Described

Monsters orate come closer into

fallow is a dirty word now

white noise nutrient brown out 

profit sex organ throbbing 

lease the future

penetrate the present gas

light the angel of any

teenage virgin just for

being irritatingly right or

obstructively right or

unprofitably right or

uncynically right or

right and not yet filled with a 

thirst for 401k performance or

an inexplicable fear of black skin or

a blindness in the direction of robots and

software capitalists

Crusty Judgement

Who waits while I tell stories of things is a big idiot eating a
pear in a plum orchard forward in time until a turn a
wingback bailor open burning leaves in the country in their
shit yard in their shit township with too many teenage pregnant
angels of the collapse of civilization because we let too many idiot
babies survive the 40 week sprint which is a beautiful image because
no fat pregnant idiot can do sprinting in their condition so the only
conclusion I can draw is that I've become mean and jagged in my
premature old age

What Of This

Rapt attack in my slack uniform of slip nothing

black veneer ripple leather lightroom liar

finish final fire file foster friendly friendzone fuck you
fighting for a fucking feeling who is fighting for a feeling 

fleeting value in conjunction feeling value in a function
of a simple sexy sentence do I mean a verbal sentence
do I mean a prison sentence
you tell me you rolled your eyes when I tried to discuss semantics
you tell me you rolled away when I tried to demand semantics 

you said fuck you fuck you when you didn't say a fucking word
when I tried to demand semantics
you said fuck you with your silence
I tried to demand semantics you tried to ignore the meaning 

so what the fuck else is there?

you obviously aren't in the meaning

or of it

or with it

or anyone 

What

Like a soup string nickel
nimbus pillow california symbol
able bodied billow heavily over a
tender teenage tongue until I
cancer market pink pillow
california symbol
Blue ocean sunrise crystal
chalice
Blonde ambition blonde consequence
blonde on bleeding fingernail consequence
blonde on can't stop picking blonde
on can't stop chewing on my dry lip Ajit
Pai fucking anxious racing thoughts Agitated
circular thought pattern thought crime thought
obsession fixation spiral and I'm
masturbating and crying at the same time
at the speed of Twitter which is the new
standard for the passage of the thing we
try to call Time fuck Time fuck it
fuck Time fuck fuck fuck fuck
The problem with Time lately is that it
keeps going forward into an uglier present
and it makes the past look sexier or maybe
handsomer in a more chaste way like those
weird Monica Haircut 90's are suddenly
safer and more ideal because the pressure seemed less
or The End seemed more distant or
I wasn't so scared of everything costing so much

Whatever 2, Touch It

Whatever and ever in it is and will be your
dissonant song and blood your food your
fibre your ultimate entity your skilled
weaving narrative your perfect crystal vision your
fucking rock opera masturbation crying fucking
death riding into sunset crying fucking
nothing

Whatever is, is

And whatever shall be,
is, already, somewhere,
trapped in dust and dirt in the code of the
math of time in the algorithm of His
holy unholy science
Fuck, nothing matters when I'm thirsty,
nothing matters when I need to shit,
only thirst and shitting,
but don't cry for me or anyone -
just be

Whatever

Carry me into and on top of a pile of sticks built upon a floor in the
forest and pour onto me whatever liquid you think will make this
fire better than if you didn't pour something on me and will you
sit and watch me burn with some carb-heavy pocket in your hand
dripping cheese and fucking sugar all over your shoes or will you
have the
decency to dress nicely for a funeral and write something worth
saying because the everything outside of you doesn't have time for
nothing statements and let me tell you I've been to a place
where nothing was everything you shouldn't follow in those
footsteps

Panic Sleep

Deify the dyad,
Who will let me try at
angel anything
Whose terrible nothing is
heavier than water in your cupped hands
Kiss caress in quiver fuck in
shiver in my tiny lucky bedroom
wooden box of truth in
stories of my sister Ruth who lived
inside an upside spoof who lived
under an upside roof who gives who
gave who will amaze who lives within
a hellish maze who touches lightly for
a time who touches only once before she
plunges deep into your chest to rest to rest
to rest to rest to rest to sink to sleep to dream
alive in such a time as we can only hope to
say that we recall before we are erased by
falling water ash and fire stone I do recall my
mother's bone she laughed and took my photographs
she kept them all up on the fridge I don't recall
what's in my fridge I never do I always lie I
don't remember vegetables I only ever tell them lies I
don't drink water only black and sugar syrup heart attack
I restless find indulgent church I don't remember pride in work I
crush the holy wafer in between my fucking terror grin I
can't remember anything about a fucking anything I
read and write and hope to find a single shred of peace of mind
in stillness or in ecstacy in holy him in trinity
in him in him in him I fail to see the fabled holy grail I
count my blessings nonetheless until tomorrow panic sleep

Jessica Renting

Jessica love template breathing help digitally with
an app or an aptitude for breathing apart from digital
templates of living in Jessica's face and thoughts she's a
torn two space inhabiting slut renting too much for
too long

Leaving It Alone

What am I contributing to if at all if at vegetable all of my bush and bramble conversation
self if at all in my life and world if I can spill a thing to him or her his holy representative in
secrecy were to write my letters and pass them on even though my secrets were nothing less than
a description of the beaches near the borders of Michigan and the organ music of an old happy lesbian next to her hearth and in her old home that reminds me of a steamship god I love it....

I can't disturb this peace. I can't be myself on it, or to it. I have to be quiet and not rub off on it or I'm
sure to fuck it up.

God help us

2016

Take onto me a weight of soup and oatmeal like I'm responsible for feeding the mouths of cute
idiot children just because they're short haired boys who don't know what a cold-steel-gut feels like, the lucky little fuckers, but I'm tempted to kiss them all with an abusive sort of innocence-murdering-wisdom until they're just broken shoe-gazing parking meters and book-memorizing-automatons and do we even know what we need them for yet? Economists joke about it...

No one knows. Dead weight smokes newly legal pot and podcasts whatever sounds interesting.
It's an age of intoxicating marvel. Float on. Wonder about it. I have no idea where god went.
We killed it. Congrats.

Breathe Ativan

Congratulate her, she's a good dog with a silky coat and
good fur for a furniture sort of home sense comfort home
feeling home giving sort of warmth and love and safety and
grab rubbing you tightly until the panic overload and teeth
clenching is passed

Chubby Nothing

What with a wholly nothing gap in his every whole happening
chest of living moving flesh his being was wholly into
nothing noticeable but for a thudding sound which was an
evidence to a thick realness which was perhaps a sign of
objective maybeness but after a long night and morning of
thriller dreaming I'm bound to drink water and wonder if
anything is real at all

Familiar Smell

Halting the ark, haunted ark fuck
ark full of animal guts and fur tingling
licking clean grooming sensibility clean
sheets and conscience until I'm a sober
patriarch of cats my vacuumed floors describe a
man whose life is under a paper and pencil sort of
lock and key with rational calm sensibility and
mathematical hand grasping exercises to develop the
fist strength to crush something which is perhaps or probably
time

Love is, what happens next?

Love is an unstoppable force and
we are immovable objects.
What happens next?

Reckoning - Brock Turner

Tall talk over me aren't you a
big figure but let's settle now
that this is a game for big cocks
you little lamb baa you tender
meek little thing you who think
who would inherit what inherit
this?
The strong fuck everything in every
hole they plumb it good they fuck and fuck
and rub raw and chafe the depths of it until
her throat is cotton and the Kalahari and
the salt mine in my guilt night terror my
cockwielding worst dream my
won't go away leaked documents of
truth and that cake that chased
Hampton Pig groaning eat me eat me it'll
never leave you it'll scare the living
shit out of you it will eat
your guts and make you look at her
and

Holy Fuck Mountain

Holy fuck mountain
I've seen it
I've tasted the air that
rubbed it's shoulders and
tumbled down it's back,
there were so many cats at the
foot of holy fuck mountain, milling
about, looking for milk and biscuits,
or maybe a few mothers to nuzzle
into and lick them, they chirp like idiots,
they don't know anything, I'll build a fire
and wait and watch and roll a cigarette and
sing a song I taught myself from a book of
hymns about him and his holy fuck mountain
I'll build a church here some day maybe, there's
a stream nearby, cold water and fish and sometimes
a bear comes to take what he can catch to fill his belly
for so much sleeping and all the bear business on the
mountain that needs a full belly, it's a hell, being a bear
with an empty belly, no bear told me that, I've just watched,
and listened - holy fuck mountain talks if you're quiet and if you
listen just right and if you don't interrupt with any chewing or
hollering or any kind of plan making, it's not a dignified way to
treat your holy fuck mountain
it's important to love it
to love her
quietly

Sore throat sore penny thoughts repeated
repeatedly until sore in your throwaway head
sore indirectly by way of grass and trees or the
lack thereof replaced with couch and liquid plastic
life of a mouth with a dick and a wallet
plant your hand on your heart and buy what
they tell you
trust everyone so trust no one
sore throat killing me
choking on airwaves