“i guess i’m a pot that calls the kettle black”

not drinking but still depressed
maybe i killed myself so often i am already gone
moon summer sleep
the dead can’t dance (never got into them)
a hallow shadow
trunks shot for murder
i’ll walk behind you and vacuum the ghost birds that fall out of your head
some people are just born ominous
your teacher was right
though
you have a knack for poetry
o dear o dear
be strong
baby boi
you may yet
score delicious
i’ll look for my sonic-bonding-tonic
we’ll build a sand castle
and a camel on the beach
stick em full of plastic swizzle
smoke some ice-tide
in the tumbling heat
put the note in the bottle
someday

“sad bear wrapped in hunger:” may 14th 2016

*sky emoji*
did u throw out the beer bottles they make your room smell like dead mice
i’m off work today
here to cradle your big empty
jk
*watches something silver scurry through bone-bag*
wow 2016 is streaking by
yeah, i get the feeling there won’t be much slow dancing 4 me
does dust settle in your hair as you’re rotting?

“dead, i say” may 8th 2016

as we sit in ghost chairs
in the food court
holding our sweaty cans of soft drinks. [mine is pineapple fanta (almost said, fart) and yours is a diet something]
i pierced your filter. the rubber sadness of your selfies.
*and what about you and your light-bulb alter of makeup worship?*
just trying to hold back the godzilla yrs., hide the neon blood.
*summer veins*
moon jellies

"what crawls here, in all this star blood;" april 22nd 2016

you. you are staining the blood and everything lanterns you to its dusk.
think of drills, and more silvery blood in a glacier’s wiry surf crack.
are you a snail in your green green anorak? how can i coax out your head..
vacant-man in there, trying to sleep. the poems cocooned beyond us _


a paint crash of decades, like an addiction with a triple chain-ring pulse. let me look in your
back-pack, let me freeze the snowdrift inside.
i want to throw the, ‘this’ at you, but hold you like a shell,
instead.

“I Have Nothing, I Have Everything” april 21st 2016

your voice where the seagulls are
an upward
like
in an
I shape) to stay alone
to fold this knife
wide-eyed over some reddish rolled
from India
tis makin me see, Jim
beneath the water
he’s close to my body
but can’t see
be like dumbo -
a mark, a feather
is okay i’ll gladly wait again in all the tinfoil lofts
or under a police
cruiser
mind dissolving
alone on a park bench
licking mustard off a brat
softly us ;
i’m lips
you’re pills
can u spork
methane
wide-eyed
Love Talented
in our separate tin boats
we pass each other
like odd wisps
of smoke

“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