most sloppy

I'm so fresh,
not worn down at all
I'm such a tight ship
I'm     ask girl
    how you say,
   so tight
I like this better than with anyone
and I say, that makes me sad for the past you
and so you said, don't be sad
       you're my future    you're my future


from your dirty dish work
with your dirty hands
with your master jeans
mustard jeans on
what hi fashion
  sure that
the mess
we bring this
  is home all the time
all of the messages         all of the masses
all of the messages
  every mess
we mess up my bed
I miss my hands into your hair
I miss my arms around your shoulders
you mess up and down my body
you message across my back,
you mess up
  my mind
we missed in and out of each others brains
mass in
mess out
  we are massive pod
on a flat floor flat surface, cush ground
breathe heavy snore me for me
I'll whisper tired hate at you
are breathing so rough so sleep
    estoy dormir
I'm sorry it's just a mess
something called something
  for something
it's unsafe to step across your body
it's wrong to walk up on it
and through all the sorries
we can sure of it laugh at it mess it up more
just call it out
  of love

what's the difference

between you and a chair

I would say I'm average tall

not short tall or tall short but sometimes someone 

just needs a chair

to stand on

I can't stand on shoulders, but yesterday I got a leg up

she made a basket step with hands so I could look over the cement wall

my friend bought a new house, and maybe it's my new house so we went to creep around the outsides of it, and it has these thick levolor blinds. a fireplace, carpet city

I like to live in curtain city

sometimes, 

but it's like the I have a choice kind of sometimes
& in a carpet city, we're choiceless

so one has to buy an expensive vacuum, which reminds me of

one of the differences 

between you 

& a chair

a chair can't buy an expensive vacuum

and you just won't

I can & have stood on shoulders, but 

I don't really need to

I live with a tall tall woman 

who can reach everything in the house.

& she puts things way up high sometimes

because that's where she sees

and I, I'm thinking

I'm thinking from way down here

I'm thinking how I don't have an arm like that

or a legs

like those

& I don't have a way to get up

or stay up.

so I ask for help sometimes

sometimes

if it's not inconveniencing anyone, I'll ask for a hand out

or an arm's reach

or a leg up

& then if I have to wait 20 days for

a handout or an armsreach or a leggup

I am begrudged

& I pull out a chair & climb on up

Some differences

both have legs, you have only two

both can have arms, but you have to

you have hair

a sad mouth

cornereyes

words

sweat

a chair has wood

a chair has upholstery

a chair doesn't spell it out

a chair is silent 

a chair don't talk back

a chair gets what it deserves.

I'm actually going to try to sell all of these chairs, how many chairs are there in this house? 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12 inside

& more outside, but I like it out there, I think you & the chairs both like it out there so we'll just stay in wait for the next 20 days. It's sort of hard to give them up but I think it's right, the deck is wet, the trees die & get wet & get up again, and I wonder how hard it would be to use you as one or a tree as one, and then I know immediately that it would be the easiest thing in the world

o god, o no

things we talk about 

sex, quesadillas, nostalgia, shirts, buttons, sweat, hair, sandwiches, swimming, drinking, dogs, smoking, love, breakingup, drugz, shoulders, legs, popmusic, lust, depression, beards, loneliness, julia roberts, sleeping, comfort, salad, tuna melts, football, stars, family, shoes, feet, eyes, bazooka joes

when i am 28

mine sky is falling

...it will end, but not this second. they remain! & I thought all day, what next will I do? I'll have to start to try. It'll start to try on me. all the anxiety at where will you go & are you gone? & then the popmusic station plays the right track, and I am right on track towards home, and then I see the familiar whip and finally I let a tear fall, in thankyou, in why oh why. & the smiling faces of my familiars, my little sweets still here. How lucky to have it still. I won't be worried anxious again until tomorrow, it means. one more night of longhair, of beards, of feasts. of warm thick shoulders. no one ever reads me, & if you did I'd tell you the same, anyhow. just glad you get to be together, again. to have your thick shoulders to hold with one another, again. & how I wish I could be sandwiched between all of the world's thick shoulders and locks and beautiful, varicolored beards.

until tomorrow, & the crash of the smokyblue idaho sky on mine wet old face.

I'd die for her & she'd live for me

I did my best twenty hours ago. "Travis?" calls the lady in palepink tshirt, arms akimbo. "Yeah MOM" Travis the teen calls across. "We're leaving." Where do the tourists come from? I am afraid when people visit Boise. It makes nothing from them, to visit. Nothing for me. There is a woman sitting behind me on a booth. She is making sounds while she knits, something like a choke, a giggle, a sob. I don't understand but it gives me chills on the back, and I feel like I do. My dog puts her head in her bag; I have a bag, too. The reusable kind from winco. We are both ladies of the bag. I will stop everything now, you've said it. What I've already said in a sob, a giggle, & a choke. You are something, and I don't want you. Most of you are.

There is the one from last night. With the hairline's always been the same. You were eleven when I was born. What were you doing when you were eleven? you were wearing zippered pants, breakdancing. Smoking weed at the end of the culdesac. Taking acid. You had thin white-blond hair, you began to grow it out long. It takes you longer. I'm too there You know how to do it. Your bed smells nice. Your neck smells better than ever. My shoulders have it all over them. I defined metathesis for you. But I had to tell you again the next day. We drank ranier with ice cubes out of seahorse-adorned plastic cups. You want to ravage. I am thinking about you, about everyone else. You look like keifer sutherland, and I've always hated 24 even though I'd stay up all night to watch it. 

There is the one from nights & nights before. That one is faded away. That one knows everything, with another sweetsmelling beard. No heart on. Nothing left for it. The months have changed, haven't they? What more can we do?

There is one who hasn't ever been, and I will quit for you. But that is the only thing I can do, do for you. I am going to drive, but it won't be for you. You needn't worry. I won't ever hate anyone, unless first I love them. So instead I fade myself off & disregard. This has been weeks, week, any-number-of-them. & I'm getting number than them. 

Everything is so sad. 

not

Compliments Received In The Last 24hours:

even though it isn't it, you're still a really cool gal

you look like... whatsername... dana scully

I do take comfort in you

yeah, I knew your ass would be perfect

yeah, you knew it

yeah you knew it

yeahyou knew it

who cares, I'm goin to feed my meter & move into a new room in ONE WHOLE ENTIRE WEEK

I went home to the other old tiny home, and there was he with wildflowers he'd picked and fruit from the stand, and I was handed a glass of freshmade juice in the tiny mexican cup from chicago, and in it there were jalapenos & tomatoes & kales and my stomach just creamed confusion & he said, here I will put them in a vase for you. I try to explain this sometimes to you (of the other yous) and you couldn't care less. & how could I blame you?

poem(s) for hair

from crepuscular orations

down below us was the white-haired man,
it was obvious the white-haired government man was looking for him
he was the gray-haired man's creation.
And smooth her hair.
hairball lichen,
hair lichens
while ratting my hair pre-bun in the reflection with a gold comb
blond-streaked hair.
sun through streaked hair.
their little powerful hairs breaking off and injecting me in various places.
My haircut looks far better
after my hair dries a little,
murmuring into hair
I am ready to cut my hair short.
And he murmured into my hair,
did my hair up and
a new haircut,
cuttin' hair n' drinkin
there is a pile of hair on the naturalist book.
Showed off a new haircut
with the new power-short hairdo,
my hair fixed in back.
The overweight woman with that awesome short hair, highlighted blond
lips and curly dark hair
pretty hair flowed in the breeze of the window...
thick beautiful dark hair
handholding darkhaired tall boyfriend,
through hair
thick long hair
looking up sweetly through dark hair
he looks good naked and has great hair.
So hairy & toothless.
Long curly hair,
hairy, too!
I cried & pulled my hair in the shower
is it his curly aubergine hair?
long-haired, young.
My hair and the captivating sunlight of your glance,
a haircut for me.
His aubergine hair & scented breath & shoulders & neck...
pulling my hair & sobbing silent
this terrible longhaired hero
only in the identical hair & mustache beard zone.
my armpit hairs growing out, now,
his hair-covered body,
hair.
Let our hairs grow longer.
Hair pulled back,
like longhaired men.
Aubergine hair, if possible,
amazing hair
even hairy.
I need to wash my hairs.
the hairless undereyes...
the hairline behind sweet smelling ears...
hair excellent,
hair in his hands.
I have nothing but soft hair,
his hair in my hand,
and hair hidden.
Hair & beard in hand.
The dark hair.
my hair is a wild riot.
Every minute he'd kiss my hair.
but her hair looked amazing.
He has redbrown eyes like his hair
cut my hair off.

from momentos preciosas

The henna crept from my hair,
why not brag about hair.
My face inches from his dirty long hair.
A few people with that mangy horrible hair.
I had to let go of my purple sweater and haircomb...
he was the beautiful boy I dragged home by the hair
with her cute haircut,
The porcelain lid to a hairbox.

poem(s) for breathing

from crepuscular orations

my own breath beating, the blood beating.
my breath hasn't come in gasps,
and then I am up and breathing again for a moment;
I am no longer breathing in hefts.
his shallow breaths,
guilty breath
is like a breath
the true breath I utter is not to be used
sighing, breathing,
I'm breathing him in as much as I can.
and his breath, too smells good somehow,
I'm breathing little smoky breaths into the pillow.
my breath was caught,
combining to form words of thick breath,
the sound of my breath echoing over a postcard.
every breath I breathe a worse one.
aubergine hair and scented breath & shoulders & neck...
Then we breathed in our cigarettes, wide-eyed.
He began to emit short breaths and low moans.
in the same breath.
and his breath I disliked,
breathing into my neck,
just breathing, slowly, slowly, slowly.
and he's nearly breathless.
Now we can all breathe sighs of relief!
His breath I dislike and his lips are soft and formless.
That burning heartchoke and breaths of slight ecstatic jubilation.

from momentos preciosas

and he chuckled and breathed like a maniac and he understood. 

a brain is simple and tough

1 November 

Finally, isn't it better. Wondering about the chain, the delicate filigree of onehundred years ago. It is true that the brain dies, but you see, giving sustenance till the end is righteous. It will matter.

The incest of a body alone. Empty of others, the hands of legs or the wrapping in a bed together. The door from here is too far; the brain is actually dead. Just still moistly warm. I could drift away right then & there! The flickering four candles emitting their faux vanillas. My own true lavender to light me.

The lights on one, the closed windows, another. The better friend vegetarians. My cells growing, the thick of arms and shoulders. I am awake alive and it tastes hungry in me.