"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

"ashley paints all mermaids on fire"

today
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
empty
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
because

radio
possessiveness

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

or i am
millennia

connecting

"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
again:
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
later

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

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

“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
stirring
dart rays
an end
in anyone’s dream

&

strange
smiles


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

am i weird to take pics of my stuff? nah. i wanted to record the progress of

my window boxes, because next summer i am going to plant a couple more, like 5 or 6. anyway, i turned the first two boxes around so now the hot pink flowers are facing the church parking lot and the purple ones are facing my balcony door:


this is the newest box - i planted 2 different types of "sedum" in it, because i am going to put it out on the railing in this building's unheated entryway/hallway this coming winter, and from what i gather, sedum can take the chill:
i turned up the color it looked blah



(i am listening to HTC's latest, beautiful, music, as i post..)




the ole house guard is now the balcony guard:


..



..



the old asparagus fern plus baby and mondo grass, which i have to give to someone to plant in their yard because i have had to repot it every minute - not a container plant

last post, gotta go now!

someone says your name

and your
sun-striped teeth make you approachable
howling
like the window blinds on the porch
we see your eyes
on the tiny screen
and they are amazing
i am going to write this because
tab clouds cover star points
because we’re always distracted
like waves
that can never pod botanic

and even
each monstrous
curve
has a beating heart
trying on
(at least once)
the snowy white
that could hold forever

*

my winter is a shadow
that will soon eclipse
the tiny origami birds
we fold together
and i will brave the weather from the corner of my ordinary life
wishing for a couple of downers
on my days off
remembering all the skin poems i wrote
suede sky ballads on the roof
for the already inflamed

if words could change
the physical
who would you be and where would i find you

*

"expired pop tarts and a dozen tamales"
morning chatter / brain knuckles /
i’m down with it / radio a.m. / egg sling / chasing you around the golden fridge / feeling this kitchen is a higher life / sunny stove / bloody 91 degrees / gleaming pots /
hooks in a song / a traditional blvd thru poem city / sunshine walls / fragments of xMas stuck in a book / bowls of sugar / flops / you’re so funny on the highest level / we should go to brownsville and start a fire / i’m cooking new things / shadowy and sexy / we’ll find your people / try not to worry / they are probably in a shelter / confused /
phones dead / time pushes morning into sad sparkle / camouflage / fiestaware and green eyes / unframed day poem 804 / pineapple growing on a windowsill / squirmer boy / canning truths / we lie to each other on the stoop / talk summer / getting heavy in the / hot garage / clutter / junk / in the left corner / a tin wreath / hangs /


*


“STRUNG-OUT”



him
telling
a table of old witches
they’re just clutter

barren motions and
a scratched baby photo

time hack
crack
sleep before
the sapphire burn
until goodbye
until the day can repair itself

used images
fall
according to this
stream
your life is empty
watch in silence
with
dull eyes
comment with
hands open
against
the blankness
yellow nails
&
blue
smoke


...

'i can't find the ringing phone, i am lost in another fever'

wandering around
on bare feet
in a broken pool of ice
speak for me
fallen in snow slippery as oil
lonely love
i find the phone between couch pillows darkening
your face
i breathe wind through the branches in my chest
you’re sayin’ something ‘bout food
and
i need to shave my legs
pool boy start trembling in a time thicket
there are dinosaur monsters
bubble bitin’
spitting dew
through even more time
it hits my plexiglass
snowballs between the eyes
brilliantly stinging

once i smoked myself hollow

..

"i can’t wait till we are super gods"

and

fuck-up

all social media
or

just re-arrange face-hook and
blow up
heaven’s boring feather exhibition

we’ll burn all casual photos of Daedalus
in the old museum and make electric labyrinths
wrong
there won’t be any feeds & streams
just
spit and shit

all ghosts leave for the islands
as nuclear exoskeletons

we hitch rides with them
as Cotton & Candy

..


"The Bed Is The Car"

when you’re high as jonathan livingston
carving monstrous wholesome in the sand
thinking about all that fish
wasted

o, to slip out of bed
and step
into new skin
unpolluted & young

remember when it was easy

to

tunnel to the exit
&

how the dark
would eventually shed its scaly heels


remember when u were calm
& only used math
to turn love
upside-down

&

then slip behind the wheel

..



"after opening the gates"


i unfold you
a faint line on the wall
a sky-room full of wrecks
our imagined teeth
shiny glass
dressed in the beauty of a bare forest
i kill you
clutching paper
then leave in the shape of a rosy river
spooling

..


"CAR TITLE MIX_UP"

surrounded by calenders
that impossible photo
of us laughing through winter
laughing thru court
spilling coffee
on an acreage of notes
thrilling foxes
the smell of being bound
by leather
the heavy in beautiful
the underneath of alone
a box full of sometimes

sadness on a gavel

*

i’m wearing a geometric dress and holding a pink paper cup
because i am trying to take myself back
into summer
back to the garden-party. back to
the taste
of: lime, salt, coke and smoke.

you
without your nails
untitled
crossing flesh bone
as an unarmed

no name



..


"here’s to looking at you in a tough magnetic way"

it is
the
unsaid-text-disease
we say together
all twang and

boy

did u know
those glasses and that fur
give u sort of a pimp / noir vibe

nah

natural born kisser on
tornado crystal

our poisoned eyes
spin in the dashboard lights

we dread
the blue
sluggish aftermath
of hitting the jackpot

so

we are stalling

a bells and whistle paradox

invisible wings adhered
i show no wear
in my street
blazin
thigh-highs

this just in from the big guy in the sky:
the truth will shake shelves at the sun

sometimes i fake impossible falls
...


"my feet have been cold all day, will you make coffee"

i see nothing
cept an empty rental car
across the road
in the snowy dusk
in the portal
someone’s chicken answers to nimrod

& the monsters sit
in their long letter beds
glistening sleep

their eyebrows are stapled on
it makes me sick
to look at them
to move past the snoring tide

i follow the pillow line
to their empty
audio-heads
hanging

still wet
from the ritual
cardiovascular curl
pulsing tiny things
only borrowed in white

found ghosts running thru glass

sleep is in us
in all of us
the giant of looking
the revlon of space

...

"chill, in the snow"

like
so
almost everything we’ve done
we’ve forgotten
angels jogging backwards
almond hair
simple lists
fleshy trix
moving towards the rocking-horse wilt
a skull face
dies different
at the keyboard
white
open
wet
and the body
invisible
acrobatic dust
now
we take turns
being lions
being boxy-baby
rolling in the garden
spitting roses at the trees
we need a bail out
a long kiss
the tip as hot
the wound
a snowflake
the arrow
freeing the fakes
so we don’t growl

wolfman
...

“hurtled”

thru a melting space
that’s how your well-worn

fuck-off
arrives

that’s how
naked towers
topple
smashing petals and light
bodies lay strewn
about main street
take gander
each stroller
playful
cirrus
clouds
grassy wisps
squatter cries
inside leaves
day apples

i can’t do the math
it is still
so
terribly twisted

and from this moment on
i shall no longer stumble
just maybe do a slow fade
like a streetlight bruise

like the nothing
that cuts the tongue faster than
a blaring
goose
fucking in the open dark

christ

ingot

just tear the photo up
on
video night

*

i can’t watch your star snuffling
the way you flame fences
with your vacant hands
i’d rather strip a playful burn
than fan a broken wrist



*

i guess you just
eradicated eden

a flamingo blaring
off limits

in colour

i sit alone
on my throne
good goddess of the shaft
ice of thorns
glisten in my hair
a pine scent
memory
in a new winter
salty tear of mortality
the night chants
dandelions
and little bird souls
close & lock
the royal gate of blood & bone
..



"now wht?”

so now wht
will our graves
deep in a grove
touch the same stone
or the worn path to the marketplace
will an ancient one
stretch these beds like the starry spines of a galaxy
the bright curve of our leaving
a commotion of reaching
will it stain a tiny emptiness
in an even tinier mud-walled hut
will the pine we sleep in
be forever pining in the ground
a sacred symmetry of how-do-you-do
only slightly rearranged
perhaps a cool lining-clasp is
touching & robotic
beetles have gathered
to hollow out rivers of bone

-=-=-=-

then in another spot
a sleepy trickle
the smothering of a box
a strand of sand
the drowning mouth
another ancient one
leaning against a rented fence
whispering the completeness of a playground
or a ceiling
over lovers
the endless shores of a small square
mountains of now
& in the peripheral
a common housefly

-=-=-=-

this is the future
the pigment-on-plaster blend
a guy standing in the street
eating a bag of potato chips
his face partially hidden
by a cherry-wood beard
no one knows it’s
michelangelo
contemplating
another
god-wall
..


yah! test drive! by Tasha Klein

tunes:

redlight 02 (feat.

hornet & shuga twigz)

light as starflight

grown dark
&
shadowed

bcuz

absence is:

a spiral tag

sky seats

& ventricular windows

throw

fake sun-

crackle

..

shake up the ice

run holes

highway sparks

step on the gas

smoke the up
thru glass

…

vowel burns
vomit
kiss to imagine
tart face
rubble grass
close to cut
circle ties
lipstick collar
plum treacherous
...



“a kind of space patchwork”


u were in my dream this morning
in avalanche-speak
we slid down hills
or just froze into

a rigid
two shadowed
thing

black sky &
a beautiful
fog tree

a garlic crop glowed orange
that orchard is a joke
u said
so we pretend-swam
over it

in a restaurant with
glowing walls
we read the news
another wasted army
tears blossomed in me
i let the slanted sadness drop
how long will we be trapped in work city
i sobbed
another couple stared
their mouths
sere swards of coarse bits
a waitress appeared
she took down our order
with a cattail

...



“a poem about missing u”

habit to recognition
come in please
electrically serially
talk louder
lipstick it
to me

i dreamed you cut me out
of your selfie
and i died
i dreamed
lego purses
pentheus by-blocks
&
how the sky misses the worse

&

the giant power of imagination

we were kids in a blurry state

then we were older

deities

drinking ensure out of breakfast cups
pouring time
onto deserts

our tattoos reflecting the stars

..


“divine heartbeat”

essentially my want is a beautiful
pink

i see you
omit
buy and kill

i’m glad
may the adjuster stay red

but my room is still blue
a complicated blue
in a terrible world

so give me the night
it’s just clothing
..

“too tired to perk-up & act lucky”

but
listen
to the clicking

ice cubes
& cross out
round one
of the elixir
of me
this foolish broom head
wanted to experience something
in rainbow dew
trick you in stockings
smoke the locks of the bared
hydrant
lurk in the bark of the moon
play status
wear the cape made in china
around little dark corners

...

“watch the comments fall..”


heavy like dinosaurs on an internet testament
stories of yourself have bodies
tweet and see
horrible deleted people
crash on myth interstates
laughing and driving is not a crime
yet

flowers explode after the screenshot

let’s try to remember the beauty of ghosts:
Isnt & Wasnt
..

“wrote..”

the dreaded love poem
the other day but i’ve been working so much i don’t have time to post it

and now i am going to bed

hey
did u hear i’m moving up
to sterling
suite 21
with a doorbell
full of spider kisses
and resin in the speakers

i’ll be out
in my
hollow face
wild eyes
exposed
waving to the cars going by

looking for you
while my feet
tread water
under
a frightened
moving sky

i’ll be lusting for loose sleep
my dreams netting out
to a fathom ocean
letting words splash around
like turtledove milk