for me

the world hurts too much to be wearing pants
o
world, downcast, o
forlorn beatrice, i called you shylock
slight me for it
in a thousand graces
by the blankets
alms of cool air
over toes

the government. though saying truth
is harder and harder, i relapse;

 o beat
 o blanket

 what say, nay
 what thrust of glib spit
 ancient or dust
 cloaked
 would you wet this
 peasant soul for?

like what is with all the "o"s?

has your vibrator stolen your throat?

like, really,
where the fuck did mystery go?

   too hard she said

was like:
i haven't even taken my pants off yet.

on that pulse poem

as much as i love myself
i will always remember that spook of a poem
as the eclipse of tears
where i knew
i knew

i would never be your poem
your ever after, or the

ring finger,


that's ok,
there is a tissue

gutshot

and i can mop
it with my tongue

rinse it clear.

debone my skeleton

my face is two rhythms;

one the reverend, gaping maw
parcelling teeth when i fuss
at my jaw, my hands like cruel
sailors stroke at bone
  or like the sun as it goes full-down
  on a toblerone.

they are sticky,
yes,
training my heart to be like my face-
like the stillness of rapture before
the crickets in the yard belch
and you are undone, or this way 
 this way son
to where the hall divides
and there are ghosts of us
striking matches in made up tents,
two-heart deep like how love should be.

later, with memory fizzling cold
i'd be facing a mirror
and slow-dancing
to my quiver lip, or jungle
beat as my eyelids
drift senseless back to you:

  with your trimmed sail mouth
  and wide ocean mouth
  your sunrise mouth
  and mouth of fish-scale


and heart of fucking slim bones ripping
through my rose blown cheeks and my fucking
heart is beating in my face so the bones
then rip through my heart and the sailors'
rum slides like tears across the gaping void
where my cheeks were once

and; fuck my  face  fuck my face
 fuck my face

i'm tired

i dont want to sip gin
i want to gulp pleasure amongst

horses in the country where the mexicans
are
or purchase railroad and build a long stretch
of heaven for when the sun sets on the great southern
bight and i am three clicks from a cliff
where the bottom is just a gulp
for the sea, the waves

with their long stretched fingers play pretty
with my corpse and lay it flat back

my eyes stare up into what will be dark sky
and maybe starlight will fill those orbs,
so dead, so vacant

and maybe as i thought of us- just the two of us
on this earth- lying on a car-crash of memory
and dancing in the country by golden manes,
and twirls of dust.

i think that my eyes will trap that memory
and the starlight overhead fill us with music,
and that, my dear, is how we dance forever.

over under

my heart is blubber
or carcass
 your sort
of gum-line with
blood on the steel
and your hands
scrub summer
off the late
ocean
sprawl

my navel
is mine for your whisper
is a nickel plated
receiver
straining shore
where some
stray lickspittle
salt-water
will fuzz, a
spark
i jolt

side to side
where your lips
shimmer
brief
again
and the horizon
quiets

my life is
minimums-
a bird
below cloud
or an autumn
i haven't met
a beat
otherness or otherwise
like three months
without a
call

and the lint weighs me down
to my slight
or just a brush of lip
from you

and my
fullness
sunrises

and my
love
 bright

  burns.

bleakd

i don't know.
waiting for my phone to halo,

melting chess pieces i am
the colour of the stain
over bricks of red, the ripening

willow or duet of flower
belonging to
arpeggio, i grant
she
 two
  or  
wished
 the
scent soda
on pop pop pop
tongue
 hessian
licking teeth
so gleam

out of photographs spread
even
i, lout

not to distract from pennies
on a bridge
  or the risk of tight
  pants

flung over streetlamp
 a chock full mouth
 
 gangbangs little words
 all words are little
  all feeling
  similar
  to   smallness

the chanting chorus
  with my heart
  with my delicate
   panacea

overboard
    not more exclaimed
    just whispered ocean
   my lilt to flower

i high, lout

  words feel
  out.


three thousand days of my life just rushed by
and i counted the morose numbers to their
end, there was strange
courts of me where i stayed and expected
more things said
though the tragedy was even
between things wished and remedies
squandered

she lifted her hands, not to focus on hands
but to cover her heart so i would
stop looking at it.

sadness.
oh.

bleakd.

"Why don't you go to Liechtenstein so you can suck the prince's cock?"

--cerulise

 te he,
the funniest read
in sparks, like a comet swift
or a grape slipper

i read and he
the dumbest seed
between soft knees
and a carnivorous
sperm bank,
well, her
sluice goose.

\\she plucked it clean
  and filled my pillow with her scratchy furs.
//
\\
//
but it weren't no well
just full devotion not so, errr,
top-hat, nor bearded

just grimy muscles with shit stains
on the walls
and a kitchen sink underneath the duvet
i blinded myself looking
at her mothballed clit
told myself to stop lollipopping it--

i think she put a disco ball on the end of it
and i was the blue light, hunchback

puttering about in the petting zoo.
though really just couldn't be fucked
to go on google maps,

and my mouth is the sorest
from mouthing.