Jul 26, 2015

"we navigate into saturday nite, as victims line up to write the wrong poem"

i’m in reverse and you are backtracking

okay. tell it. i am listening

joan of arc logged into pretty

i have drugs and i want to make it with you

we were put in that war

hero slicing

violence in the only pay phone

sympathize with sharks stuffed full of plastics

i hit the glass and fly involuntarily toward that stairwell

i see you there

signaling storms

on ice

your biggest irrational fear

the gnostic dollar sign dangling over my dash

i’ve been an ocean sucked into a tornado

religion is me kissing fear

the base of your skull

flat printed-circuitry

"The Last Word On Attitude Of The Quiet",

the only place to buildings. We discover the alleys but learn to watch each baby step, fold light into the tightest places.Little Istanbul at the Gare de Lyon. In this weird pain, we rarely see

what resides, only feel like adding heft to the spill.
Of a need to recover? Need to recover. We meet at the end. Corpses of a moment. The toxic illuminated in our eyes and skin. Another world. No money. A thin, white, sugary girl, sparkling evocatively even on strawberry pastilles. No one wants to interview the terrorist poet; we fight aimlessly on, past ambulances cloudy with second hand smoke, past the unexpected hard drops, the pharmacies with their red crosses. Our solitude knows no name, just music. There is no more dome to dream under. We are out! Out, cutting poppy into a shortcut. Our feet left there. A sensory image: two irregular sonnets, slight matte daubs of past invasions, transgressions. I feel like you are Roman Catholic so we set a goal - the highest part of the city, Sacré Coeur. For the longest time the hills keep arriving but no mountain stops. Dervishes appear out of no where & try to sell us their ritual dances. Maybe we’ll leave. Float down a country road, where we can find a holy inbox everywhere.
Jul 20, 2015

Jul 14, 2015

"ashley paints all mermaids on fire"

a vinyl mini skirt
i know blood once had a reflection in its shine
it is the color out of space
shaped like someone else’s miserable

i can see outside my future
because i’m my own guiding light
my eyes
green installations
before this was born
i died
and we all pull out of the rain
the gold veranda
burning children
picking the sun


If you are marbles
i can’t imagine collecting husks
for the right lines

all because of a dream generator
a gap in the brain
hotel some hot velvet
look mom
no hands
just cheap ass fireworks set off by strangers

i notice things
out of the hospital
the shoot-touch of other body anythings
again and again i surge into this state
toy love bride of feelings
i hate that shit
the nothings the overconfident
are you burning hot dogs for the next 20 years
PM me


i suppose you are a good person
i’m on chemicals on a whole other web
a shark
i don’t think i could stand
smart phone bangs &

or i am


"while scrolling down your tumblr page my browser crashed and i had to fill out a crash report"

i couldn’t sleep so i got up to look at your offerings
so many eyes they put a hole in the wall
there is no substitute for a tray of syringes
nothing better than sleep walking from cloud to cloud
one leg left on the couch
the pills
blue skies
a coffin to trace
and cut out

sometimes i get in these morose moods
go to target practice and think
peter should be scared

this whole thing started (for me)
with that Instant Crush video
that detached
vocoder-assisted voice never left my head

Jul 2, 2015

“picture scape:”

wars of light-fall
socks too high
and night formica
in the counter-net

i pull
facing east
thirty thousand ropes to none
in a room once unknown
the walls
really anywhere
dart rays
an end
in anyone’s dream



june 14th 2015

“searching for fidel casserole”

drive!drive!drive! you scream while ripping open another gooey ziplock disaster
keep goin! straight!
listening to “kali” by your-absurd-foreskin & everything is on slim oz settings.
i open windows for something like enlightenment and you are label master competition loyal -total blunts – ssheeet meet BEDTIME! i hate being the end with peyote muff

somewhere, hell is delivering its first breath in prophet curls: ancient ITT guy meets certs sucking weirdo, and will slash me & my illegal routes with win across all numbers. now i am on wall st
watching a thick bartender do a bloody mary
and behind sun two; the Jesus luster of THE blind, a rock for yer dreams
and finally finding the toilet boxes! still paved with country cuties and magnum prostitutes tinted with Y2k blush, past the indie polish sausage stand don’t be a baskin head and pay the hansel!
i bump into Scott Weiland explaining smeared with linoleum teeth and vodka breath
in bare-feet, & somehow & some time later

i find the skyline car and u r still sleepin so i start driving all cross cloud lash and depressed into another world-run where dirty is eggplant and cherry is violet mercury punishing perverts with zapping zippers and finally
once again we’re cruising over the last beckoning clover median

may 9th 2015