“this poem has nothing to do with you, in 60 words.. more or less”

Embrace the darkness in which we roam. There isn’t a new church

In the woods;
Only ancient, garnet flickers. I looked. The deer, a mural on water. Dew-drops
In someone’s hair. Volumising the lift - we squeal! The moments sparkle & glow
Horror vacui in the night, all night. We pump & jump. Molecular memories.

"U don't know where u met me"

but it got u into ancient greek
everything facsimiles eventually and blurs the history of the valley, the freeway, the you, — messing around with death, using Gmail with god screens & savers

making birds speak marketplace &
Himalayan in the same accent.
Skip to content
ask me if i got it for satan ask me if
the daylight rn is a prayer i forgot to rough draft
to me u feel like a low grade burning
and u r probably getting sunburns w/clones and that witch that looks like a kind of 90s Woolf when she was the last sort of cool thing u remember happening.

nah. what really happened is i started writing something decent and i lost it because i am having a hard time with copy and paste on this new dellerina

so what’s Happening? another great scary growth in a new suburban house? I’m trying to see you but u are standing between two car headlights. Headlights. — machine light i now fall from
blind
signals
buildings are a rough mouth
conversations
form
systems
pool
alien designs
sit in your lungs
and what about the animal bites
i take arms against the 139 remix
america repeats
@midnight i turn into 0. 0. 08 GB
misunderstood

"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

"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