stickygirl

get me! we made that allnatural health poison
the squitos drive around me, knowing I'm delicious
but knowing I've the poison skin
they land on my safedress
and I knock them dead
their striated legs in a little pile
on the ancient cement stoop.
I doubt I've ever stuck to the air
this much.
bye bye, louisiana
august

wasp

"Last August
  I Gave you My Heart
  and The Very Next May you Gave It Away"

this written on a sign above her bed. this lighting the afternoon cigarette, but they won't sleep sober so it's noon when a roll-out can happen. it's august & maybe it's assumed but the shortening of days can be assumed. there is a broken sprinkler head just shooting out little waterspurts. she went home drunkenly to care for his dog, she was being funny at the time. one can write paragraphs for another so long as they're cryptic to let the other roll eyes because their meanings are decipherless, meaning-less. a long white limousine driving by, the pound of bass in some other car in vicinity. tap your dog out of the bushes. don't touch those eggshells. wen't isn't a contraction. it's august, we're leaving tomorrow. go back three months ago & say so. may was a shell looking out of it at an august too far away. but here we are! sleeping in your bloodbed, all of the dreams bad ones. we aren't sex. se'x isn't a contraction. moving all of the cups in to move them out again. a view from before. tears dry, little cheeks for washes all dry. I made you oatmeal, I invited you disinterestedly. I'm back to disinterest, aren't we proud. wad up in my arms saying nothing but that. is it bass or bass? I guess I've the things to go through, I want to be alone in my own arms. to share my own anxieties with my own disinterested self. dis all over me. give me my push-me-away. give me fortyeight hours, push me away. fuck my eyes open, shower me, my hair to grow long outside from me. look up from your paws, feel the breeze on your pretty cinnamon back, feel the scary unfamiliar humid real in front of you. I'm excited for next may. I'll be such an alive thing then.

diarrhea, entrails, repeat ∞

   we look almost nothing alike
pushing gently at the soft 30
  babe in the rain
I have been a smoke cloud
I have been a sadsack
my smoke face
my smoke stacks
I've been   I've been stuck under the street, gooey
  gummy, gutterblast
a little petrified thing.
I feel a little snaky in my old-skin
but I'm flowing. I mean, this shit's a gust, we're august
  up in here
   thickoil
go down
  my drains. I draw it up, little guzzle guzzle
my body's a goodmeat, my heart
is a harness
  a wetwish
  a no-way bore
and my brains are wrinkles
and I've that good
  innards rope
     double noose, holding them, side by side

  noose me to your pocket
            the one you dropped
  we're on this high plane, now
out of the rot
     plains

I got no grief machines
  driving my bod
  its inward mechanisms, abuzz buzz buzz

Merrill means shining sea in Welsh

we learned a few french words
  we felt awfully proud
     we pooped our bits out
        we stormed the crowd with party
            we danced away
        with our cranks & cogs
      and our ropes are strong, metal
     and the slivers they make are silver shines
   like some
iridescent sea

stop doing how you do

never tell someone to love! I fixed myself up,

fox yourself up. I like to take inventory too much

I found this old green gridded journal for officing

so when someone would borrow a book, they could check it out

from the library, bc I even have one of those date stampers

it can stamp any day between 1992 and 2013

I don't know what will happen in 2014

maybe we'll stop reading by then

god I hope so, I have too many books lugging around

So the lendee would sign the book's inside cover, and I'd stamp it with a due date

a date we'd agreed on

a date before 2014, sometime

and she let her old boyfriend borrow one hundred years of solitude

and she'd forgotten she'd done that, so it was about a hundred years late but is back on the shelf

along with all of the other Márquez I've never read

save for the novelette about the president

that I read aloud to bruce over a lantern

at the reservoir while he poured vodkas

I wonder if I will ever read one hundred years of solitude

I keep thinking I will

the other books haven't been returned... I stupidly in romantic fever lent a lover's discourse

to some ex-girlfriend of my friend's ex-boyfriend, so-

I lent it at the bar, too

I had my stamp & my logbook & everything already with me, the bar library

but that was last summer

and she unfriended me on facebook

but I know she couldn't have digested that

but I ingested it so I guess I hope she passes it along

I lent light in august which is one of the two Faulkners I've done

I started it one August

and finished it the following August

 am I a slow reader :/

nah, I was reading linguistics texts

and postmodern short stories

remember? I was trying to be in COLLEGE again, whatever

I lent light in august to andy, but then of course he broke up with me

and I told him to finish it and give it back

and then I told him I just wanted it back

and then I told him he could burn it if he wanted, that I never wanted to see it again

yeah, I think I'll go take some inventory

inventorying is relaxing

remember how effulgent I was in August? but then the last weeks of it, I sucked back into myself and radiated nothing. sometimes I am too vague; I intend to work it out, work it out & workit back in again. I am in denver now, sitting here in perfect denver mansion, thinking denver thoughts after a first night of sleep, alone in a house different that I'd never before been to. sleeping on someone's denver bed, and I had an anxiety dream that seemed to last all through the 9 am alarm up until the 9:45 alarm. dream about stealing, shoplifting from an albertsons type, a broken claire's accessories necklace, using the guise of purchased saltines packets (3) and the dream wore on. we were able to fool them, though. it was my old boyfriend kelly, #1, and he would mirage into another old boyfriend (#32) and he sort of saved the day at my request. I was up then, and decidedly stinking, and I walked in the denver sun past all the other denver mansions, past the denver hipsters and the denver vintage & record & bookshops, and I snuck myself into hunk manor, and who was sleeping on the bed but shirtless, underweared hunks and their hunky labradors, and I went unnoticed (luckily for me, for they would have wailed and snorted at having their little hunky sleeps disturbed) and rode my bike to drink coffee outside. everyone was smoking cigarettes. the girl behind the counter stared long & hard & it seemed everyone was, like, what, you haven't seen something like me yet before? I have many ones-of-a-kind, but I am also very easily dismissed. I am working hard, working working working on being agreeable. whatever you want. it is difficult to deal with men sometimes, with hunks. I know what they want for me. to not argue, to understand, cleverness, feminine comfort, agreeable agreeable agreeable. you want to play pinball? sure, honey. how about seeing some professional sports, live? oh kay! anything you want. I am getting good, but at the risk of caring less & less. whatever I want, whatever I want, there is no more. until I am back in my own surroundings, with the things I throw around me. labor day, labors of love & I am in it. but the love is just some stupid shallow beach, with puny little waves licking disinterestedly. way to go, colorado

ant, the velvet words

It was just the words come in me, those to make seen the real simple of a night. The common scent of flowers on the night breeze of a week-end, the ones smelling like butter or honey. Different bee breeds hover from these flowers & in again at daytime. The crickets, common sound of august, or maybe in oregon frogsounds are commonest. I'd like a test to differentiate. a frog whisper in one ear and the rustle of cricket wing violined against cricket wing; stridulating forgets the hot of a night. Spiders in stridulation, the velvet ant...