the (sub) tropic of (pre) cancer

woke up in the kitchen  saying how the helld this shit happen oh baby

to practice

the why?

remember the garbage destroyers, the ones

who takes the reproductions you do

of you,  the waste you

think you made enough of

from the black notebook on the table, an open letter:

I am sorry I doomed it on the drive, in the dream, from my body a day after

those little caresses on the 

hairs of (my?) a heart

coming true

giving me yours, make it

I'm glad a glad a

it started pouring down tropical rain 

and I went out into it

and Chad came out, flipping off his slips

and soaked himself in January

January in the Tropics

you deserve your name

invisible limbs

a cloud of verse

make me

full

  funnel

you

make me forget

that I'm my month

 and I'm hunting for my

full

  wolf

somewhere

I am a little beast in here, a beast for you 

babe.

who has fingered me? don't stop touching on me. don't use your words at me, leave your swoll fingers afar from. I'm grippable. take my city from me, push it out my holes, fill my brain with other-fluff, the stuffs of else. I already knew, read ahead in all the books of this. once I was at your house and we were fighting, I was in the bathroom and you put on fade into you by mazzy star and I started to weep. I thought it was an example I could grip, of you connecting to me. and you hadn't any idea I felt your playing this song to be a reaching out for me. I started to cry because it felt like we were in the same place for once in awhile. you were hearing & responding & sending it back out. but then you changed the song in the middle, and I looked at my tearface in the mirror and the illusion was spoiled. welcome back, I said to us. but always remember, to never understand should never be a surprise maker.

optimism

the haha you!
the edit you
there's always the you to write about, a sort-of you
the all-sorts-of remember
mes
I think back
in a few months ago
or 6 months ago
I was trying to see the pain end
trying to date that end
telling things, to picture it happening
like Molly, you won't live here forever
in a deep sadabandon place
you'll find the surface
you'll move in with your blood
get comfy together, you'll get comfy
together
swim up in it, bubbles coming from a nose
for my mouth
how I shout, mouth
to suck
being a stop-now
suck it out, stop being a shop mouth
a sob cave-maker
let your burbling oxygen bubbles rest
let your breath turn into flowers again
photosynthesize
on the horizon
oh haha you
oh, 6 months later you
oh where it came, from where I am again
the dissolve of flowers in a vase
the burning of your name on a hill
my abundant cusses
I've almost forgotten them
empty hole empty house
no more radiant crevasse
full of sinew & thread
the prettiest sky
the prettiest scab
peel me off
smile laceration me
the pink soft of a nomore scar.
  the teen is    dead

"and a liar... and pathetic..." (6/12/13)

I found you. I will find out everything about you, too. You won't know, because I am an invisible thing

I am a thing you know about

but really you don't

because you've never met me, never will remember me

Isn't it fun? I would ask you

To be an unreturnable?

to think you haven't a thought about it. I am a wish spyer

I will pay extra close

any amount of $$, silently

like I'm a wall

but I haven't any walls like you.

I guess this is where you live, then. So this is your place? god what a scum place you've made into

What are your walls made of? Where are your softspots.

How do you even say my name like that, when have you ever said my name

I've heard you say it aloud, in some past

we were living in a present then

I gave all the presents I could think of, still do

I have already taken myself back

I have been taken aback.

but I'm hanging on the walls

a crack

in your softwood, grosswood, moldwood

you are a fat disgusting wood, tall & forward & upright barely

I have to go to work

and pretend like I like to be there

everyone, no not everyone

most everyone has a problem like this, you know, with work

unless you like to do what you're being paid to do

but who does, who does figure this out?

I ate too much salad, which is funny

because salad is so little, so good-for-me

and I am pretty little, I am pretty bad-for-me, though

Was I worse for you? when I existed

Why am I the only one asking all of the questions, here?

Why am I the alone interviewer? How will I get my articles published? 

without the answers I'm needing

I don't know.

I don't like where you live,

 I don't like YOUR grub

it's a gross grub

and I don't blame them for not wanting you

I don't wonder why they won't

and that doesn't leave me with questions

so instead I will just sit here & interrogate

myself

the world

the seasons

the wind

I saw the moon again, it's back

and I can't wait to interrogate it tonight when I get off of work

I'm going downtown

to paste up a portrait of Carl Sandburg in some ugly boise alleyway

and a portrait of Mark Twain on some gross streetcorner

and a portrait of Walt Whitman on jamba juice or something, I D K

but first I have to find a paintbrush, and a roller, and I have to make some wheatpaste

and I have to care to

rather than to not care to

and during all of this I will be asking the questions, here

I will do all of the talking

at the moon, or whoever you are

and I won't be answered (maybe)

but the last time we spoke

you actually did answer me

you reminded me why I've never loved you, & why I don't love you now

because there are Actual people in the world

who are Actually there

Actually available

who Actually, Actually give a shit 

about something other

than some decrepit broke shell 

for inhabiting

that's big enough only 

for your brokenopen egg

because nothing else exists to you

save for alone

& sad

& miserable

& longing for longing for who isn't longing back at you,
backwards glance garbagehouse

6/12 3:16 pm

didn't I

So I wore the same things all week long, and my smell was radiant and the polyester boiled on me and I got flirted with hard. Everything went away after I remember that I have thousands of sweaters