looong week :(

I didn't realize I hadn't posted since Monday, so I guess I'm 3 behind. I'll catch up this weekend, I'm still pretty busy.

420

I have no idea what to write about tonight :/

W.B.

my grandmother flew
out of the window
of her broken bricks and wood chips
house
and maybe saw clouds and birds
and god
before she came down like a meteor
all wrath fire and kill
the dinosaurs
and shattered the sanctity of solid earth
before her last breath was blown out
by the screaming whispers of wind
never said another word never made
disturbed air reach for my ear

my father sat in the kitched quiet
head in hands
elbows on knees
throat all shreaded
shaving cuts shine silent
weakness of arms
trembling of fingers
she never sucked blood
from the knee bones
that cant hold up his weight
never got him shots
never kept him safe
didnt look at his fingers twisted the wrong way
in her name

2/3 of the way done tomorrow

han shan

lawnmower clicks
the sidewalk throws up
pollen like the last dying blood
and breath gasping from purple lips
slices of gut
little chunks of blood
from the new grey green grass
and the first day of spring

my brother thuds a basketball
against new concrete lazy
gum hangs from his mouth and flakes
skin cells off his hardened head
and blood slips out of his kneecaps
waits for him to realize the shavings
white skin clinging limp then falling
like ripe dead landmines from a sweetgum tree

i sit on white sidewalk in sunlight
glimmering like beach sand or watch faces
poking my eyes with needles distracting
my reading leaving me mouthing
ancient words translated from pictures
carved deep into mountains and rocks and tree
shivering from the hands of an old hermit
on a river soaked mountain
ice water inside
old flesh wounds underfoot

2 more

spring cleaning

watch you vacuum
the hair spreads like creeper vines and dry
ivy up your legs to just below
your stomach
all dark black and curls twist
around like two snakes fighting
to get the little dust mite houses
cluttering your carpet
vibrate the ripe railways
you regulate the floor space
and smile flash and smirk
like venom is blackening your lips
as you curl
the chord around
like a sash


(I can't think of a good title)

a little flag clung to your lapel
like plane crash cannibals clinging to mountains
looking at the boy behind the counter
that replaced the brown haired girl
when you started thinking his hair curled
down over an eye so quietly noticed
the way his lips mouth your names
write it on your cup clinging
to each move his eyes make
before he pours your drink
weighs heavy in the cup

the sun sits
somewhere in dark spaces
night time persists and the stars
choke out light hoping
you will bleed while silver light
claws out your eyes leave
empty sockets waiting to catch
but its simply sunlight singing
into your ears suns hands
all in your hair breathing heat
onto your lips
sweating

sliding into denim blues
and too much stomach seems to hang
from gray bones
full of green dust know
no one knits fingers
into your hair no one cradles
that egg in your throat hears
little whispers out of your mouths
like ghosts slide out of west texas towns
no one
but the sun

2 pomes

engaged

chris tied a knot around his finger
and hers somewhere
in the middle
of the knuckle and on the other side
of the world speaking in characters
like tree mountain and sky

i found out flipped
flop feet following frigid
spring rain spent alone wonder
if they bathe together yet wonder
how often she sleeps on top of his pale
bone frame



decoration day

feng shui the organs
in your gut all tied up
heavy grass beneath your tired
new orange sun brown
flowers wilt in your hands
and remember twenty years ago
your hands and shins were shaved white
skin and brown dust clumping in blue
blood before it hits the pipe smoke air
he blew into the gashes
of your old stained birthday gloves and pants
and realized even curses and go to hells
wont unmake jesus christ
if he really even came shivering on a cross
or take you out of heaven
even if
you aren't there



btw, I think the flow would be better if I could use spaces instead of having to use commas and line breaks to denote a pause. I'll probably use commas more often since I agree sometimes it can be hard to figure out which words go with what. I was kind of playing with that a little but not as much as it seems.

Hey, hey, be my summer lover?

Loo

i sweat enough to stick
right to your shirts
you write all the words i ever want to read
back when i was lost beneath stars
comment that science gave them phone
number names and no silver light
syllables spilled from the loose muscles
i claim as my voice strings
before i never gently unhinge
the skin on your chest

back when i was a cigarette soul staining
my shower floor with mildew browns
back when i drip to the store and finger
a quarter in my pocket
buy a pack
of chicklets let them dry and rubber
my togue skin until i pick
my gums and it staims the candy
and my teeth







I don't ever want to write about love again.

midnight

my brother

mixes colored water
mid june excursion
in the making
we go smoke
leaks from our rough
nostrils clean t shirt gets stained
when he cuts his hands
on knew concrete
lends me quarters for the fourth
july sings quiet songs
crickets make sound
stains on the growing midnight
I say the stars barcode
names quiet and nurse his bloody
hands with cold clear
alcohol tightens my lips
around a telephone your number
is gone out of that town now

2 in 1; 11 and 12/30

Over 1/3 of the way done

i am jesus multicutural
online uploaded
and 100,000 downloads a day
all long hair and tight white t-shirt
cuts in the knees of my jeans
blood running down my legs and down
my red stained socks

but i never saw your face crushed
on little white stones
dirty razor blades cling to ratty wet
forehead and black hair and cant tell
if you hung on a cross or even came
or understand such a thinly outlined idea
called getting saved




love poem

no korean amature
half way lit poor quality
grainy black and silver and green
and gray sort of porno plays
on the back illumination of your
computer screen want to talk you
out of doing that and just lay
on the floor full of rag water
rum bitters sours
cokes and laughter and sweet
sixteen vestal virgin
cum in our ears and whiter shade of pale
carpet between our hands and old dead
skin beneath our nails
and our hair and fingertips stained
black and open our mouths
and shed our flaked scaled skin like rattle snakes
and moth wing moonlight flocks
to our eyelids im
soft like a clams tongue
and you dont
mind

I'm a day behind

I'll post two tomorrow, I promise.

the mistakes we make when we are young

a hole
in my new thick blue bloody
jeans and bits of gray
dust sticks to the inside
of my skin

broken slab of green
glass throw around sunlight
into my eyes and yellow insides
of bird eggs fry
on midwinter playground
pavement and i cant do much
to stop their purple
fetus bodies
from drying out
and flaking off

Storms :/

I'll post something tomorrow for today and tomorrow, I need to shut down my computer because the world is destroying it's self outside my window. :/

sundays sound sunny

There are people arguing outside
my apartment in loud
fuck me in the morning
voices
force anger through thin walls
the way thoughts radiate out of your head
with words

i sit inside all jesus' hair
and aching jaw from spooning
too much microwave sadness
onto a tired tongue shake
loose voice strings
and eyes dulled grinding
on computer and tv
screens

the shower water dont fill
me up no more than the leaves don't fall
in my back yard cause their trees
are too dead
and i grope away
at pillows and tired
bedsheets

hm.

8/30

swallowing pills
the rain swerves across the median
cheap thrills
picking my teeth with a straw
til blood drips still and stains
gray teeth I think
im in the balance between stable and dangerous
my hands shove words together without thanking
i operate and remove their meaning
like a black and bloody appendix ready to bust
all of these words become self-aware
lust mixes with love like water with blood
I'm overdone

More of last nights stuff

I guess kind of builds a little on what I wrote last night

Men still live their lives in darkened
blue suits covered in the battery acid
toilet water of spring saturday hang
overs a layover in Pheonix where you think
quiet thoughts like you never had your one
that got away and the stale taste of decaying air
port and a red state away from the tired bones
of your empty cincinatti
apartment

women are trouble but you see a white sign
in the bitter broken back
glass of a red ford-something saying
women don't shoot people
cares keep coming down vine
whining like the horses they long since replaced
inside the gray and black days
maybe kids of the future will wonder what the world was like
when there was a bad economy and HDTV
in the gravel-voice of tires treading on gray
scattered and rocky ground you know you came
from between sweaty white trembling thighs and mothers insides
and hate that you stretched to break
that little cradle of shattered lace
and the simple symmetry of such an organ

I wish I were a woman about half the time

uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh

women

are trouble
but i saw white
words in the back window
of a little red ford something
"women dont shoot people"

i came from between sweaty white
sticky thighs and mothers
insides and hate that i stretched
to break such an organ

and once there was a tiny drop
of blood on the head of tight white
sticky leathery condom
and wishing i could let it swim
in my veins

so i think about statistics
and other damn lies
in a gravel gray parking lot
with parliaments between my teeth
thinking that i stained my first
lungs for a women and hoping
she might smile if it kills me

The words weren't coming well today

oops. 5/30

walt

the house where leaves
of grass blew around inside
a beautiful pair of hands
and eyes has been turned
into a prison breaking

the spirit of the greatest
song of myself
american poet
in a halcyon dazed drinking stained
face it cuts my vocal chords to say whitman
has become nothing but letters that spell
out a name.

4/30

Very short, because time is short

to speak

whisper spanish even
once doce trece
into my
eyes savor each
sound softly while you wait
for me to find the courage
to get you off

wait your head
on my pillow
case white and lick
my teeth and bite
the inside of my cheek
for me

we are quiet feet
on feet and summer
night time hot air
from your lungs on my shoulder
cant sleep until after
you take a shower
want to get your name carved
onto towels with mine want to scar
my last name with yours

Robots Sack Sack Life

Story about a Robot, 3/30

whirrs and clicks cough
so quietly from silver skin
rough and flaked
like kissing chapped lipped
from the small robot
learning new things
from shiney round disks
stuck inside slits that was not sexy

robots are too logical afterall

of the many new things he learned
by inspecting his contents
(which is much easier of your brain
is linked in wires and spinnig) was how
to write a letter with a little paperclip
to help

robots rarely consider writing letters

scratching new ovals and lines
binary into his insides bloodless
words dripped from electronic
mind mass and formed
a nice letter looking
for a printer friend to make
black stains on macintosh white

paperless labratory conditions soon became self aware

inside the robot the hums crunched
numbers (mostly 0's and 1's) concluding
that the best place to make this letter
be squeezed
born through a printer
a place the robot learned was called

libraries (not dll which at first was

trouble) on wheels and never seeing sunlight
through filtered video lenses tracking
himself through invisible wireless
connection he found his way to the library where

many people had never seen a robot

printing 5 cents a page but
what use does a robot have for money
and back outside he rolled through heavy metal
double doors
and begged nickels from squishy pale skin sack
people who don't know
binary

The title is meant in a good way

Cunt

wore a t shirt but didnt cover
bare leg skin thighs beg
for plowed fingernail rows
and head hair spilled red curls
in your lap

I pull my dick till it stings
in the bathroom after class
wonder out loud where those pale
legs live now
covered in rough denim blues
little angled breasts sweat
still sticking to an old green dress

April Fools

Day one, first of 30 poems. Rough, who cares. I don't use punctuation anymore, or caps, so there.


every morning

fondle a cigarette in my mouth like a tired
dick and amazing by the reality science says
no god made and sometimes
i agree

surviving
on trip hop and feels copped
and sun stained eyes
girls that live
in your city veins for a while
english doesnt quiver their lips like
fragments of spanish radio living

the single life
with a cum stain tattoo on my stomach swallow
shower water and kill
my two day beard last years
dirty face
and first
last smokes