stereotype, a song (explicit)

  I'm hysterical

  watch me spin

 whirlwind

wash the place,

wash the world

my innards trying

 as women are wont to do

with the ra shon a ble
world

my wet stuff enticing like

as far as your
 deal   can squish
measure me in that way
ruler me

sorry, to be rude

 sorry, but I'm crying? right

look at me go

swish around

 I'm a heart 

  in a shape

cut off the arteries, the connectors
cookie cutter me

 obliterate
  into dough
masticate me mush

I'm sorry, I became

I behave

 in    that  way

so

the only genius in the room is   y  o    u

 disimportant  me

wash me
 down the drains of history

histrionic       girl

pull me out

push me

 push my breasts from my body

thumb my nipples from them

scrape it off, 

grate me

 cut me out

slice me, sliver it, silver it

wealth my slit

suck my gold voice

savor it

 drink my words,   betray them

take it upon yourself to translate me

 who could write it better than you.

 name me

compliment,

stand up for it

defend.

   my dear darling,

  I'm for a girl

 all of my ins

  and the bones of me, & marrow
 and my heart

but boy
     as I hang a shameful head,
you've the heart of my brain

  and the brain of my veins

bucketlist

I don't have enough paper to excuse myself. cricket sounds, alone on your stoop. too date to, too summer to. L H D C. I met my date's unknowing mom today. I walked into his house expecting to find nobody and there is his mother sitting stooped in the kitchen seemingly hairless with a hat & shades & cane, and I introduced myself as my date's friend and she introduced herself as my date's mom. I went to the bathroom & thought wildly of laugh-saying, Oh so you're my new mother-in-law haha but I just said Excuse me and It was nice meeting you, afterwhich I afterwished I would have said, It was nice to have met you because I think this is a far pleasanter way of sharing the sentiment. I am not mad anylonger, feeling unjustified or afraid anylonger. I was talking to Chad last night about how I worry more that I am incapable of feeling Those Feelings anymore that maybe I am trashed & shredded more permanently than I'd thought, anymore. the feeling of not feeling being sadder than any feeling. that maybe I am a sad incapable husk of humanity myself, then. I think maybe I am just losing steam on it all, on everything & maybe I get whiffs of it back often like when I realize that my date has not one but two pianos in his house. & his cat eats my dog's food & my dog eats his cat's, etc. his script on his french homework. his tall bed. underclothes, wet from river, draped about. we're both buying blueberries, now we've only too many for a blueberry pie. I'll go extra & sadly to the yuppy store to buy noodles & corn & squash for you through my hate for the place, parking my subaru legacy outback, parking my collie at the Temporary Doggie Parking Zone. walking past the old white ladies lunching with biodegradable packages. my date has dad hair, I told him there was a fine silvery one & he wouldn't believe it, asked me to pull it out to show him. now he is whitehairless. I've about 9 different pretty iridescent hairs coming out from me. his record collection endearing. there are long shoes, the kind I'd have worn should I be stretched out longer. maybe I am tired from it. in my fantasy hotair balloon basketride. in my I'll make you dinner when I get Home. in my parents' house, and they say, You don't have to leave! We like you here! in your arms & you subtle say, Don't go, just stay & live with me, with your insinuated shared invisible chuckle. I'm blowing kisses at everyone these days. Amanda zipped it away for keeps in her pocket. my date caught one across the alleyway & threw up back to me. John Shinn & Bri stored theirs away like best friends can. I can see actively the shortening of days and my dad reminds me how shitty is Boise in November, that might I just leave then? a year ago today I was fastened to Matty & Kyle & Brittany & Nickey in sweat, blood, pus... oh, tears. it's all the same to us. I quit my job in Portland exactly three years to the day, yesterday, when I quit my job here. But I was out of town on August 4, like planned. that was then, when my buckets were all full. my future was inflated, helium'd. & now it is a solid wonder, but I'm sunk at the wonder. maybe my organs have flown grown away. thought I'd my heart back by now, but it's a wash & my wickerbasket is a frayed mop & I'm moping away in my girl reflection.

I wrote a poem at you in my sleep but I forgot it instantly

there is always a you in the you I talk about 

spurts of months ago

acid wash

the act of being worn out

I dreamt I was to do the charleston in an auditorium of people but my dress was too long, and or I also was wearing pants beneath it (the long thin breaths in a bed beside me in real life) so I called, tiny voiced, Wait, and of course I'm dreaming of all of my bags and luggages, filled with things like ski pants, the hippest new threads for shredding the gnar-gnar on sale now in Hailey, Idaho. I parked my car next to the dancefloor and half an our of my changing into flouncy layered skirts I was asked to move it, I was skipped, relieved. I had sex with an obese black man who'd come from the Twin Cities to find me. some grandparents almost wouldn't let him in. analysis: I'm moving, don't know where I am have all of my things billowing from backpacks & car don't want to go skiing don't know black people lament for being missed don't know how to dance but want to be before a crowd

analrapist

therapist

it's overcast & so am I

at this internet cafe

fresh out of bed

fresh dirt sheets, chill out I'll wash them

we've jobs to do to end a vacation 

ants in the bedlam.

treasures

what are we
if not jewels
little faceted gems, shining dully in the sunlight
  grubby precious delights
     stoned by rushes
        of water wear
            water tear
        like a tear-us-down
        like a tear-up-now
      worn at the edges
     all of the boring rivers
       and the boring earth
  were trying to wash us away
but we're
   bedazzled
      and through the skin haze
you can see our glow-worth
like old patinad coinage
    in some boring blue fountain