" "

augmented reality:
all signs stuck to velcro & we’re listening to autopsy -
“dark like a subreddit” / all exits locked.
we call in transfusions. to the blood park.
wake up at a funeral.
your T-shirt says, GO ENTROPY!
blood vessels and stars leak into our car-jack video.
we steal light from alien trees, walk into vine/wine hour.
what the hell is a vine, anyway? the valve of a door?
radiation. the universe faking its own story.
reincarnation makes me tired. the bartender
is blowing up twitter with his cock tail science.
here’s to
short conversations @ high tables,
bruises identified on a bar stool, and
and seeing beneath the crowd.

“i’m dressed as victim chic, playing vision quest by myself in the dead arcade of the dead mall.”

waiting on u, with my heroin affliction. are we in a movie? brown dogs run
unleashed thru the theater. i have med checks in my pockets, i don’t know
what for. a resurrection failed. was i suppose to meet u here,
or at my apartment? i want to walk home but i can’t google it. i want to
go home and change into an angel so you can murder me with just
your mouth. like out in some field Cain is listening to no one. the girl that
lives in the apartment next to me, has two kittens named Risperdal & Ritalin.
our roof-top garden smells like panama and tonite is so temporary.
i dare u to sleep here and play quest in my mouth. let’s go out.

the beautiful streets
look
like mirrors.

"soon enough the sun will rise"

Dreaming in
the language of your
appearance & the lack of. I’m trying to forgive
and look a little convinced. You remind me again to write the
letter,
Boo!
I do, and I want to join your club
so I walk with you while you try to drink
and swim.
Ah, the talons of summer, scratching everyone’s skin.
Ages & real names are making a come back. I always enter
what hasn’t happened yet.
Just look at them. Nothing fits anymore.
And those who are dead, grow. Is it easy to quit a job
and sunlight?
Is this broken-window talk?
There is a sad loneliness in hotels. Do U feel it too?
Here, I packed this Frankenstein tote with lots of moisturizer
& vitamin D.

“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