on the clock

finally & see everything
I'm alright with my voice enough
  just us, hear the sound around what I make
can be a beautiful music
or a beautiful temperate weather
material list,
eternity ring lessness
this is how we do this is how we
  justify
making all that money
  standing around with a beer in my hand
  standing all over the place with hands and my beers and my limbs
  if this was a poem that would write itself
I'd be in the echo room
I'd be the coolest echo in the room
but I'm a remaining here, now
I'm a present here, now
but my room is so vacant
and so gorgeous
I wish I could
sure you
what's inside with you?
I didn't me, don't me
  to find someone who wants to be
    inside
I'd ME two
I dare me to
sometimes I look at myself in the mirror
and sometimes I think you'll love me

FOREST HONOR STODDARD

"The typist lived in a kind of limbo, hovering between heaven & hell." C.L, The Hour of the Star

tiny brimfilled winejar

just colors to design us in

someone's exploding

across the lake

  catastrophe bangs echo

are we in a rough neighborhood

I feel like a tough place, sometimes

on the lake in a dark wet breeze,

    Do you think we do things on purpose that are harder & worse for us?

it's raining on me, on my books

  my winejar has turned into a kalimotxo jar

it's raining around that good lighter

 and on The Hour of the Star

   and on The Blue Notebooks

Forest Honor Bali

  at the cabin we wear our

cut off cardigan sleeves

  as legwarmers

over our jeans

     they end up looking like

  festival wear

      burning the forest down

       with all the lights & smoke & vibrations

I have smoke face

mouth, ears, nostrils all smoke

smoke in my eyes

do clouds get thinner when they rain?

is it just

  I  L  L  U  Z  H  U  N  N  N  N

trying to be a poet in the rain

  trying to use a notebook in the forest?

           Climb a boulder

           Drop a laptop in a lake

  attend poets diversity college

   and get one for free

     if you graduate

tough pussy

ohh hiiii

let's go in this cave

goo crevice forever

let's goo bye

make stalag-might babies

make a maybe baybe

snuggle up to the calcium teat

a calcified treat

the beauty sparkle-spire

white, unlit

dank

 the echo of your hunger murmur

 the purr of your helpless guts

the rumble of

      whats that wumble in yo tummy?

come on baby, give us a break

a stalactite feed

a stalagmite feed you

but you're on all fours

moving through moist maze

underground tunnel

  illumined crystal castles

  from the ceiling, from the floor

  for thousands of years

building, tall-towered

or beaded tears on your beak

dripstone, 

dissolvestone

It's cool to be underground, am I wrong?

the temperature is so death

Where's my beating down sun?

my beaten down son, my troubled youth?

but it's soooh cooohwd in dis womb!

does baby wanna come out?

of his coohwd wittew womb? 

I thought a womb was meant to be cozy

but not too comfortable to shove you out when it's time

Let's go to the Chamber of Rarities, I don't think there's a wikipedia for it but it sounds fucking real