give it a week

I'm actually wearing wool. I'm actually final, here. I am surrounded by the latenight drilling of the roads about. I was sad and awander, I fell into step. I felt time dally around. I make the most of it, child's bed. Make me. 

We picked up a hitchhiker, we were all going to New Orleans. Danny came back to the car and said, He's pretty dumb, but he's harmless. He introduced himself as Christopher, then interrupted himself to say in drunk drawl, But erryone calls me MISS'IPPI! Y'all mind if I DRINK? and I'm sprayed gently with beer. AW NO, this un's sprung a leak! So he chugs. He's made up a song he doesn't mind singing over and over. The chorus says, simply, and straightforwardly: Ga pocket fulla LINT. Pocket fulla LINT. Pocket fulla LINT. Danny says, Aw man, yeah I already heard this one. He puts his hand on my leg. I'm driving. Missippi ain't talking to me. He's not talking to anyone in particular. But I'm at an advantage because I've got the window down, and I'm smoking and drinking coffee. We're outside Mobile by now, Missippi HATES MOBILE, ALBAMA! MO-BILE ALBAMA CAN DIE, KNOW WHIME SAYIN?

Well, shore enough, he passed out for a spell. And we made it to New Orleans, Louisiana. Passed through & over Lake Ponchartrain and it began to rain a bit. We got rid of our traveler but he left in his wake a bottle of smartwater, empty save for the dip he'd been spitting. Bye bye.

I was worried three, four, five six weeks ago. Wondering, will I? I read aloud to him the poem I'd written, we were at the bar neither of us really likes but the one that's close, and always has an empty patio. At the picnic table. He was tired but I read it anyway. I was worried but I'm not worried anymore. I'm a weepless one, now.

screamy

for those of you writing, I'm suspicious
I have amillion miles long
I am waiting.
I'll sit with your body folded up in me
we're under them, dots con to each, like the pen drops
on your sheets
wish I could find an animal for it
but no matters.

I am growing, in & up too
I've
left, we've talked about it
I'm here for the 4 or 5
nickey britta luke river dad

I like to look at what the others are doing.
I DO not like to think about what I'd be doing otherwise.
I keep glancing out the window for your
spiderlong
and I am wondering, where did you,
& I fairly shed on you

bros

boys letting girls drive them around in their cars
boys sitting on the beach with girls reading the thoughts of important french thinkers
boys kissing wet girls on the beach
boys wanting to be sober with girls
boys going to their parents' place for salmon
boys drinking and driving
boys making their cocktails with raspberries & mint leaves
boys referring to their cocktails as their cocks
boys letting their moms move in
boys with their phones in their pockets
boys anticipating a latenight call
boys inviting girls over
boys listening for the sidewalks to ring out with skateboard wheels
boys drunk driving
boys sitting with anxious girls in their arms on a bed
boys holding girls as they cry on their faces
boys telling girls all of the things
boys sitting on the stoop with girls
boys crying with girls, talking about being broken hearted
boys getting naked
boys saying, I want to fuck everyday
boys wanting to tell someone they love her everyday
boys falling asleep to the party
boys waking up kindly, with fondness
boys wondering if it will end soon enough

fruitlsss

such an incapable little beast! 

I just spend the day sitting here wondering, what are you doing in the midwest?

and you, what are you doing right now over there, thousands of miles away?

I just spend the day sitting here wondering, when you think of me, do you ever think about what it was like when we loved each other

or maybe you don't, I guess. I guess we all know I do

but, I won't even ever see you again ever

and I won't even meet you ever, you know

so quit pulling out your hair & get up & go

vocal organs

prettylittle, 19

In the middle I spied him. How do I. Remember it an early morning escape, ascended from all between this and them in the dark. Driving that night, in from the drunk-stench. But now as always, aphonia. Your long journey home with poolstick as prop. I suppose this loss of voice, I think it was explanation. The only song is organic, and we were. I feel like I recognized him. He looked on my nerves, my functional disturbance. Driving down, that’s worse than staying nervously around, wondering symbolic. The vocal organs, late at night.

About this, persuade me from the feigned passionate speechlessness.