squeeze

when i look at your round bottom i get
i get

my milkshake brings all

i get
serious

i
get
smart

our bedroom smile  our bedroom smile
-it's worth repeating-
i want us to rent a memory i have
of cushions and stacking them.

of your eyes and the stillness as i looked into them
i could
blaze into your head
i would, two

of us
and me getting hard or conflicted
and i like that part of you

when you cried and i didn't know what to
i dont
i still dont


but this is last year, and now i need to be alive
  i like other things too
but right now i just want a hug and a squeeze.

k. smith, ok?

#happy birthday

  you're an electric
  something or rather
 
   a mathematics master
    or rather: a master

      o hearts, farts,
       o living chicken

you have clucked another
plucked a cow of milk

don't know what cray cray shit kentucky chicks do on in their garden patches. asnwer the tele. laugh and rub me in blood-jelly, coors coors, smoors on the lamplight your eyes dripping crows

like you slit the mud and crawled to california. i want you. nah. i want to write a better poem for you: CBF.
lol. lulz on your face.

i want to play your sister in a dream like i am your gameboy and you braid my hair and maybe stab me with hepatitis needle.  (that's how fucked up you are :)----

...but for reals i hope the moon is friendly, and that the ones who love you love you. that you wear a seatbelt on your horse, and that you have mittens on in the winter, fahr water in your heart.

dear gurl

i hope that you dont hate me.

a new poem to let you see i am broken and stuff (1-5-14)

one dead frolic in terms stood by-

those lilted arms of april, those trigger
finger march sonnets, like frank beans
my days counted up and swooshed

they pounded the dirt like a wedge
on the 15th, blazed skyward like balloons
and laughed at me like the internet.

one month ago i was masturbating to thoughts
of death now i am covered in a trillion sacrifices
like pollock backfired on my bellybutton

and that was disgusting to write and probably not true.
but fuck love.

i also wish it was may, every other month should just be may,

with the eagle on the pot, my jet sky iris by the gilded lullaby and with the heart my intent has thudded,
i can hear my veins sing in my ear,

till i am reading this back and every word comes at me like a jackhammer, and then i remember that there was a girl once who lived inside my head
and i think i should make her backpay me rent

because it would be nice.