kids of summer

we found by stench a tarp-covered maggot dog on the river
the corpse smell inducing the vomit of a nearby fisherperson
ian poking it with a stick to find out what it was
did someone attempt a haphazard burial riverside?
did someone throw their best friend off a bridge
I've never seen so many maggots
it's been hot like summer again, so
they're loving on scorch death
we had to ford the river
because our spot was taken
by a humansized shit
whose odor was pleasanter
than that of the poor friend
and the homeless family
it was like a birthday party, tons of kids
changing to naked in the bushes
but all of our party made it
HERE LIES BUTTHEAD
nickey didn't get the ref, there were more advanced computer games when she was a kid
like the sims
probably sims 2, at the very least
oh youth
I don't really get carded anymore
we put our chairs in the water, sinking in the sand
and watched the rivercops drive around us
officer undercurrent, paddleboard cop, on the case
ah, summer.
taking the easy way out

I'm going to call this paragraph, "this is why I hate you" by molly merrill stoddard

hate me because I'm fat, then
hate me because I'm a coward
hate me because I make bodypromises
hate me because I'm ugly
take a chance on me, and I'll on you, too
go ahead & hate me for that.
hate me for being far away from you
  for falling in love
    with any attention-giver I can find
hate me for being an awful writer
hate me for writing all the time
hate me for taking breaths in between
hate me for disappearing
  for ignoring you
hate me for telling you everything
hate me for my honesty
hate me for my certainty
  and for sucking it all away from you
hate me for promises
hate me for my uncertain future
hate me for my sad
hate me for my being a sedentary mass
hate me for kissing you
hate me for my awkward fuck
hate me for my money
hate me for my snacks
hate pictures of me, for images of my subtle movements
hate me for my flatness
hate me for existing, invisible
hate me for my reason
  for my neglect
hate me for changing my mind
hate me for my sorries
hate me for my selfish
hate me for my gross corpse
  that you hang from, yourself a gross corpse

butterbody

I'm sitting in my opaljade colored subaru legacy outback
smoking a cigarette
it's pouring rain out
cheesecake on the countertop,
nobake
I'm a dying thirst
I drove to the gasstation & couldn't barely tell
the man abt the smokes I wanted
I sat in the car,
smoking
I read aloud
I did that thing where I tell myself not to move my lips when I read
I said this loudly
& I moved my lips so fully
I have such a humor
my dad took me out to this bougie restaurant
: An Italian Joint
  and I told them about my weekend
                            about what I'm sortof trying for
& the gross waitress hovered
taking away plates & utensils
in the corporate fashion
I reaaallly don't care about this place
but I ate  puffy smoked salmon stuffed
I mean, why lie? it was fucking delicious
but you won't be seeing me there again
   unless I'm dead
  like if someone really felt the urge to bother
with a corpse or a murder
for an overpriced fuck-me-I'm-pastad party
oooh happy birthday! the waitress fake-squealed
and she asked if I wanted some birthday girl dessert
  and come on, you think this fyne 33 yr old bod keeps its way through dessert? get real
I do thank you, & sincerely.
  they gave me a beautiful backpack
      so I'm trying not to be so awfully mean

Queen of Sacramento, Lady of Nebraska

the palm trees, the claustrophobic planes

the spelling of plains correctly

I keep the ideas of me you have

they suck into me & become me even more me

more I than I thought

I am

whatever you say I am

if I wasn't

then why would I say I am

eminem, the great fucking plains?

at least a valley you can get out of

mountains you can climb up

rivers you can get under

but we can have the plains

the regulars

the simple

the nothing-fancy-abt-that

the unchanging landscape

a field, a tree, here & there a copse

and you,

a livable corpse, a loveable corps

lovable corpse, covesick 

covestuck coeur. Get in yer crevice, baby.

Climb in the corn, crawl on the fours

spin round, divot it

dig out a little place, make a valley from your rich plentiful midwestern soil

bury your body there, make mountains around you

a seething grave

for the unchanging 

make less your monotonous burial scene

22 august boise idaho

(from cardboard notebook public diary)

Mmm Bloody Mary! B left for a sweater & pretty dress. The wind in intense boise. The night blow. The alcoholic in me celebrates. The tiny alcoholic. I've missed myself. A little heartbreak, a little hurdle. It will be good to leave. Maybe Tuesday or Wednesday. Make the final arrangements. Say a silent goodbye, middlefinger to the sky. Oh, boyfriends. And manymore. I'm thinking a texan. Who in their right mind is named Kyle? 

       Next I see him... he will be tiny. He absolutely did it, for real! A classic. "I don't do cats, I don't do beluga."

       Oh, inside. As George said, a heavy Patriarchal show. It goes on for days & weeks, and happens to. If I liked him more, he'd be called Sasha. We'll just call him nothing. o But he's an artist! I can lament that his community attracts. The poets, scholars. Poets jerk themselves off. I'm going to read you Kenneth Koch. "Guess what, Molly, in Nebraska there's this beautiful national monument, a plateau, and there we went and recited Leaves of Grass. It was amazing..." Oh, stroke me more, you obvious retard! He lacks in anything said. Beautiful things, actual poetry,  foreign to his taste. How could he not be struck by the black & white butterfly corpse I flattened in Tennessee Williams? A Dude poet. Poetry, and that impresses me? Often. But obvious! I haven't heard a bit of poetry uttered from his flat lips! He would drive me to suicide after a week of him. Still I'm angry. He's no right to actually be that guy. I said things, enticing, come to the fair & I'll hold yer hand. He chuckles. I don't need to hold your hand anymore, . But wait... why does it happen? Does it actually happen? This? He needs a lesson in the subtlety of honesty. The success in honest. 

       I couldn't change it. I might be able to show him. How I'd love that opportunity! Standing there before his handsome tall form, Listen, Guy... I would have fucked you anyway! What was it, a simple exercise in manipulation? Will you write a poem on it? No. You're lacking too much in creativity. Yeah. I'll say that at the end. No I won't. Give him some scars to think about.  Not a chance.There're some poetics for you. Flat lips. Resembling too much S. L & A. W. Never again... oh I can't keep writing about this, can I? How about is Poem formed?