he was the summer crashed and crushedinto a boy who did not exist yet; and i remember a noveli was going to write -- about a girl with salted longhair, riding her bikealong seaside cliffs and a boy with black -- hair who worked in a bakery and wanted to kill himself. now when i… Continue reading poem: savoir complex in maine
the lights in the coffee-shop are plaguelights; the orange faces of men neutered and hung upsidedown. i am the lonely one, sitting at one of fifteen tables round like breastsand remembering why i studied in university to suchan extent that i had only casual friends; people that collided into my bodylike accidents; and i spent… Continue reading poem: the coffee-shop people
the boy he told me i don't believe anymore in the rest of my far away life and i told him none of usdo that is the secret everyoneis lonely and no oneis lonely everyone is separateand languishing
remember? i dreamed aboutthis kind of bliss but now in the pulled-apart strings of myheart there is onlya dull long ache and the aluminum footsteps of heart-burncoming up from my chest like a foreign man crossing overmy seven boarders his handsstill wet. remember? we were going to takethe world i woke you up in the… Continue reading poem: shifting
and yet she always come back, that unreliable bitch. you'd think I could let my organs run off in snot safetyfor several hours and not return to disgusting wherewithal when I shower or finally sleep, as if everything wrong with me was merely situational. I can write claimsin mad tongues that I am also doomed… Continue reading poem: I have lost reality many times
i have run through the streets, kicking my breasts before melike two cast-off wheels; i have dyedmy hair from a box,it is red, like the red scraped under my nailsfrom fucking your son. i am kidding of course; i am too busy languishingin hospital beds or the wet parts of my mind, and lately the… Continue reading poem: vendetta for the summertime
pain is whati am used to; the baby came outin pieces. do you cryyourself to sleep, at night?sometimes.
I sometimes have a queerfeeling in regardsto you; so said, janeeyre, that precocious bitch. probably drinking spiked water,in a club in california, and not thinkingabout /him/, or so she tellsthe intrusive thoughts. the gleamof the orange purple dancingpeople is twistedinto her throat; watch the sparrowwrap herself into lightening-rodsand snap, sparkledisintegrate.
they met on a trainand then did not meetfor manyyears.the girl said, stories must be,by definition, sad and therefore i do notwant a storywith you. the boy said, we have nochoice we are humanand thus doomedto suffer.
silent ownership in the night, youonly exist like a characterinside my mind-fuckingmental state. i want to make it keep it pretty, i cannot / but whenit happens, it issoft little waves rushingup on me. the daylight is veryawkward, we are realpeople. the refrigerator is silent,mad old greek godor silicone statue, thinkingi took your motherfaster, manage… Continue reading poem: instagram