for you

#9

yellow flesh on me
first fragile fixer
up me, in me, broken brain


#20

where did you get me
is it in, did I
come? tell me did I do that


fragile thing. pick you up put you on me
darling thing, did I brain at you too hard
did you inject me with laugh
did you wake me with pain, at boring no did I
were you the real sad
were you extinct, even then
did I try to crawl away
did I try to fix your broke bod
don't I remember the superface of superficial
don't I tear a little at giveruppers
masks &
masks &.

i think we're presenting

What is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen? I was asked and I have never been asked. Once it was your eyes, a most boring blue. Because they looked at me in this way. Or because they looked at me. Now they are not. For awhile I thought I would only love a blonde. I like the translucent skin, to see organs and veins. It makes a body seem brittle, like flesh to be ripped. I wanted to look for Scandinavian peoples. Like the tall strange-faced ones, like this was it. The crawl up a long body to some exaggerated feature. A bulbous nose, small bead eyes. A long thick neck, scar tissue, adult acne. A touch on some underground pustule. If you can, I can. If only while you are a mattress for me. I'll wish you'd read the line from Song of Myself      not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be less familiar then the rest        I wish you'd read that over & over as I have. This is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Where were you looking, just now? Erase JUST from a vocabulary, replacing it with ONLY or BUT or FINALLY. Which of these words is oldest? Guess ONLY because it has to be, english is only just but finally slightly old. Ancenned is the old english form. Take your justice back to the century, be better off. But you won't have your common comforts. Finally would be french, you'd never be french, you'd never go to france, you wouldn't leave your flat pocket, would you. I had a french boyfriend once, only, but he was my amant français stupide and he had the most slender hips & hairless body, and I gianted, and that was beautiful. Sunken cheeks and brown sad eyes. The brown-eyed are saddened darkfolk. It isn't the lack of pigment, it's all of the world's pigment like a vortex for all of the sads of all of the worlds. Lighten my load. Look at my very eyes. Match them to yours. I'd trust you less if you were trusting of soap. I'll plunge all of my buds into your dirt, familiarizing your everythings with your everythings else. This was a beauty. Dancing toward me in my graveyard. After my destruction, the wideset green eyes & giant bones I cast to the wind for my own downbringing. Dance toward me. This wasn't as beautiful after. I hate promises, but they can be the brightest beauty. Apologies can drop holes in you too often. I'm jaded by the landscapes, now. Unless you're my landscape. My face makes you cry, I am too terrible to look at. All of this is true, justify my text please. Take my picture with you obscured behind. If only an easy thing to delete, it was. A memory can be a sad beauty. You tell me you've broken up with your girlfriend, you're in my body & you've forgotten me, but I've remembered that I love you forever. This is the bluest pretty memory, looking into a depthless pool. You are a pretty cruel. Memory bones. These are what I used to imagine as the Truest. I pull my hair out for it, when I was young I had very beautiful hair. It never got brushed so sometimes that was a discussion. I can take part in the tedious with you. We'll talk later, we have lists upon lists. Only once to open my eyes and be unable to count them all. 

Queen of Sacramento, Lady of Nebraska

the palm trees, the claustrophobic planes

the spelling of plains correctly

I keep the ideas of me you have

they suck into me & become me even more me

more I than I thought

I am

whatever you say I am

if I wasn't

then why would I say I am

eminem, the great fucking plains?

at least a valley you can get out of

mountains you can climb up

rivers you can get under

but we can have the plains

the regulars

the simple

the nothing-fancy-abt-that

the unchanging landscape

a field, a tree, here & there a copse

and you,

a livable corpse, a loveable corps

lovable corpse, covesick 

covestuck coeur. Get in yer crevice, baby.

Climb in the corn, crawl on the fours

spin round, divot it

dig out a little place, make a valley from your rich plentiful midwestern soil

bury your body there, make mountains around you

a seething grave

for the unchanging 

make less your monotonous burial scene