“Hey Blowhard” april 9th 2016

explain to me again why every mtn is a canyon
explain again
how the stupid stole the garlic
it’s always 4am in the nothing and i am craving salt
low like deep
the basket map of your brain is an ink island
you’re lucky for that
i smile and we hold hands
the night tv flickers
through a blade of grass

Me, reading someone else's poem:

https://soundcloud.com/merrilymerrilymerrilymerrily/tashakleinreads-1991-byfromfromfrom


Me (Tasha Klein) reading Justin Ryan Fyfe’s poem, “1991″

wipe the snack salt from my fingers
to the sheets of my bed
u message me 100 years from now
and i crumble
into dust
like a 100 year old
sandstone bunny
i do lower than whispers
how i can forget and want w/e is there
i build a home out of blocks of ice
this is the foyer
where i keep the maps that belonged
to my now dead grandfather
i want kindness like air
my mind says alone 4:20 am
if i texted you now i think you
would be awake
a scene where the toaster pops
even tho we never saw
it loaded
im eating cashew pieces
not even whole or halved
the way you create a new thing
inside of the thing you meant to create
a tortoise on its back in the desert
or w/e
like ive said that b4
our past fucks us up but there you are
lingering like a lilly pad
floating on my back in my grandparents pool
near the lizards whos tails
grew back
after you rip them off
w yr small child hands

“sweet nothings”

just cuz
u ain’t nothin but squiggly
magnetized
but
the chili was good
so was the cake gun
haha dirty pun
okay this is a poem crash
i have a toothache but am still
going in to work
i’ll be thinking about u
consuming all that pretend sadness
i’m wise to you now
you’re just a baby playr badass

"bad romance by lady gaga (or the disco-stick song)"

so u took a sip from the devil’s cup?
probably more than one sip
knowing u
a god for a few
just reach in the mirror
and pull out some new lungs
i know you can read my poker face
& that’s a damn muddy shame
on camera all my spells look the same
but back to you, yeah i just read the other day
you’re not even suppose to wash jeans
seriously
look past the rivers
for
the ghosts wearing masks and

measuring cups

“no lentil soup for you, davy crockett”

my computer automatically nets the tweets u delete
and i tap this virus like love
sweaty matters:
u want to suck that cross-eyed
hatchet-banged bunny tit
but u cain’t
so here
chew on some meatloaf
and then we’ll
trim your mustache
so i can see / taste those
chapped
lips

"TITLE"

in my mind i am already putting up art in our groovy house
pic number 1: us kissing on a beach of black sand

all lyrics say the obvious
like: snow boy chin spoon
but the www be breaking your head
i’m thinking he looks drunk sitting at that schematics machine
and all that had been purring is fried
again

that would be a problem
we could smoke weed but never drink

but back to decorating
back to the flower bucket filled with ghost
back to the wall were we would grow a misty pavement of
i’m sorry and goodnites and dancing i-luv-yous
forgetting to brush our teeth
my lazy baby python
i’ll slather my Bath&BodyWorks all over you
and put your hair in a pony-tail
whip
your lips
with kisses

found poem

I love when you stop talking to me

And I hope your answers