We don't know when it happens but it happens

Make yourself a pad to be in

I'm reclined

That's not true, I'm upright on the stoop

2:21 am, December 5, 66 degrees Fahrenheit 

The Full Frost Moon in Gemini approaching

Which is haha funny

The full part? The Gemini part

The FROST part

I just got a little shiver there

The wind in the pecan tree

My anger leaving in the fronds of the pecan tree

Repeating the pecan tree for emphasis

I will apologize and I am sorry, I know

I'm on some dumb planet

Orbiting this dumb sun

No signs

No blurry constellation hatching

No frost on these fronds

Just the haha of my fogged-on world

Barefoot on the stoop like summer

Gases consuming around me

My own system of farts

I am sorry!

Who Me in the South

Who Me, bathed in pecans

Ovular orbs

Cascading about

Keeping the moisture out from my meats

So tender

O little triumph of stars

O, the twin

O, my mes. Apologetic Mes.

hippiemantra

ooh!
hey
pretty moon, pretty planet-up-there
I was reading about you, and about
what the earth mothers are thinking of you
and about how this is a time for bringing loving care to myself
to let my emotions
come up like waves
because they're water
and I'm wet.
I am a wetone, always, and
why do I feel so calm & serene? I mean, for me?
Molly Merrill Stoddard?
fucking serene queen

the palm fronds framing it
this mini-moon
guiding those wild dogs out
on their traipses
they got the trots
and so do I!
the drip
      drip
       drips

I'm calm in my love, there's an understanding in it
an acceptance of it
an abundance of it
 that I'm comfy in
I'm blanketed by how I feel
  is the right way
it's feeeel feeeeeel feeeeeeeeeeel!
    feel away!

a song for love in the new year

songs with women's names
the number 14
the light of the moon, near full
I avoid it!
 I don't avoid it
I avoid the urge to
my ring slipping round my finger,
  maria        laura        marlene

a train   choos

   10:53 pm, tomorrow
(this time of year, the nights fall longer)
so let your beard grow round your neck
and your torso
and past your new boots
and down my throat

make me toast

        read your fortune!
        little new-year son

I always have liked
the german pronunciation
for marlene

the soft lilt,
the forgiving!
                         (do you remember proclaiming
                           that you'd never love someone
                           that you'd never love someone explaining
                           that you'd never truly love someone
                              who's never caught exclaiming)

  oh, me!


       hello, little new-year babe
        hellow, last smoke of smokes
       hello, pretty whistle
     of pretty, nearby train
        hello, sleeping city-that-won't
                                        the oh-she-won't-quit place

                               dreamy babe,
                              I've never said this to anything
                            I've never been that guy
                              But I wanna die in You

      and, therefore
    thereby

    tinkle
         tinkle
               tinkle
                      little bell, ring
                                           ring
                                               ring in me
whistle past our bedscapes

in denver

little dooms
a light
pile of chirps
an element
  I need to think of
an element
a string of vowels
insects brushing against
night
when is the next full moon? is a question

88% humidity

surprise body! surprise
lately:
petrichor
wet everything
grease girl
favorite song
broodless
dancing till soaking
dancing with dumb rattail joey, sorry
hot joey sighting
dancing to hot sweat joey drumming
of course that hot joey was the drummer, smh
awkward date sighting, no thanks
hundreds of gallons of alcohol
pc upset
aggrofags
sorry, not
come to new orleans with us
puppybody
puppypuke, sorry
ida pizza, smh
all of the $$
happy birthday, I love you
no don't talk to me
other guy, wtf is your name again?
let's make out
no, nevermind
disdain girl
glad for rain
let's party till we die
summer mood
get that moon
get it

"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

worth it

I came back
   the same
but so filthy
I don't want to ever wash my hands again
I am a touched girl
I have a sunburn or a cinnamon tan or something
I held the hair at its roots
  oilcan hair
  make that face
given me a corduroy elbow
given me your smokes
given me a double-sided noose
your dirt hands
that good clean mouth
  make my stomach muscles pain warmly from laughing solid for two whole days
  get it
under that big moon... there is some kind of agoraphobialike condition
  where people freak at the airport
  when they see how fucking big the sky is
I freak at that moon in ocean-sky
  around the fire,
& I just stared deeper
  & finally got it
we're finally burning sadhouse down,
  watch her ghost away

bad news noone

I just got the saddest news

at the yardsale

my dad came by, I was in rollerskates with a little mimosa 

in one of those tia maria cuppies

and I have been good, distracted, happy

bringin in alll that $$$

and I introduced him to Kyle

and Kyle went on & on because it's my dad, finally

so he said, Let's take a pic

and it was pretty dark, 

my dad wasn't into it I don't think

and you can't even see the skates.

he told me that the Stoddard family cabin is going down

torn to the forest floor
that hasn't seen a sun or a grower
since 1932

fucked, gone

ripped off

sometime next week. I was going to go there on my birthday

so I could look out at the lake at night

at the big orange moon on the mountains

waxing toward that
full flower moon

its reflection on glass

because no one's there yet

save for the mansions

and the goose, being just so

I wanna kiss someone everytime I see them

- I just said this aloud

after Kyle told us that he kisses Gray 

whenever they see each other

I said, that's nice, that sounds good

and Kyle said, I'll kiss anyone, it's fun

last summer, we went to the cabin

the vortex at the cabin

in robes, in tyedie

☮ frog

drank in the sun all day

sunscreened one another's noses

when we fell asleep in it

last summer, we thought it necessary

to greet each other with 

kisses, always

and we did, for awhile

but then I guess we all forgot about it.

I grew up & out, there

I lost my orange kitten at the cabin

my cousins & I went door to door

wearing sombreros, captain's hats

and the cabin neighbors would look sadly at us

because there was a tiny kitten in the forest somewhere??

But we found him, 

(his name was Desmond)

beneath a seat in the motorboat

just mew, mew, mewing away

anyway, I wish I could go to you with this

to lament, hey...

we were going to go there

but it'll be deadforest by then

I wish I could tell you, and I could tear

carefully

and you could hold me with your voice

but

  you don't like 

bad news

aloneless

I woke up with a lot of you, and was most thrilled for Maggie Nelson and this copy of Bluets I had in my backpack, Kyle's, signed by the author, because what she'd read gives me the runs in my mind, and I was sitting there sweating in the corner of this strange room while she stood in the brights behind the orange & blue podium framed by the tall gold pipes of an organ. I sweated & didn't look anywhere, she faced me. But seeing her wasn't anything. She had a slight lisp which carried me through more maybe. She mentioned the root of the word etched- to be eaten. Etched in my heart. & I was thinking of all the things we've said, I've said & written over & over, and the songs, what they say,

  you own me

   you have all of me

    you can have all of me

   you have my heart

  you have a hold around my heart

                    so do you have two hearts in your chest? is that what makes you so loveable? (delicious)

After she read friends addressed me and I averted eye contact and said I don't know. Are you coming to have drinks? I don't know. They looked surprised, offended. I walked through the back of the gallery. Collages of matchbooks. Giant plastic windmills. A cyanotype of a bike, I yawned. And I calmed to chill outside in the sunset, where everyone smokes, and it's a smokefree campus but everyone's a poet or an adult so I smoke too & start hugging the women I love, and can't talk about what I'm thinking how I'd like to crawl inside of her mind & live there & have her pet me and this just from a brief forty-five minute rainy brain hug. We went to the river, same place I was with you when we missed Alice Notley & Jeff Mangum but didn't miss each other, and I sat on your flat rock, and I had a beer and watched the light on the water & thought about how I could write anything or read anything and that I wanted to be a knowledge tampon and a thought sponge and I wanted to vomit up beauty & honesty. & I did become very honest. Don't touch me, I can't be touched right now, okay please touch me I am ready for you. It got dark & we rode to the same bougie bar where I'd have the same sazerac at a different table, & you wouldn't be there, but the weather would be nearly same as when you were. Someone offered to buy you a drink but didn't. Someone asked what I was drinking, Jim with a Greek surname, & when I asked him for his surname he looked at me like I was too classy a broad no maybe he looked at me like I was old fashioned (which is at this time, what I was drinking) or British or old or young or beautiful or wasted. I didn't get a free drink, because he only wanted to buy me a pbr

                    
                 he asked me what I did in school & I laughed, and he said, why does that make you laugh and then I felt like crying.

Outside on the cement fence in front of the hotel. He said Maggie Nelson, if she'd wanted to, could have turned everyone in the room to weeping. Can you imagine having that power? he cried. I told him if he ever got the power to make us weep everyday to let me know & I'd move in & stay by his side forever.

He told me he schemes for love. And I said you fall in love for six-six-hours-at-a-time. That you told me once no one can ever break your heart. He doesn't remember saying that... two people have crossed his threshold. Physical pain at their nearness. And I said, I know you love me, I know I'm important to you, but why is it that I'm always checking up after you & you rarely ask after me? & that you're so easily distracted? He said that he & you, most of you, are better at communicating through the written word... which is an of course, so why even ask

                      

       It was a full moon & I was honest. I would have told you anything, if there was anything you'd want to know, and some did, and some didn't. I like what is conversational, the meaningful ease of listening to a lisped voice in a muted microphone, she being available through her writing & words & explanations & interrupting herself and the moment her voice failed at her last sentence. I still like what I do & how I do it, the true it, and I do take a compliment that I am such a fucking beautiful person because to me it means my heart still pumps gorgeous in my chest, that I am a whole. But I must also forget the lovesong cliches & the notion of being inside of someone else, or losing my organs to another, of being eaten. I have doors & they're open so many of them in my house that the crossbreeze sometimes makes my hair stand on end.

so many questions I know how to ask anymore

I am talking to myself today? 

what day is it

how many days is it

is it 77 degrees outside

why did I ruin this skirt for me

will it make an appropriate mini for you?

why can't I cut straight

why is there glue everywhere

why is the paper everywhere

why am I not a perfectionist

why do I say I am a perfectionist

why do I want to throw away everything 

why do I want to throw away everything when it's perfect

when did you say, "men are perfectly     Okay"

when is it

when is the last time 

when was the last time?

do you remember the other thing you said to me?

why do I want to tell you so badly what you said

why don't you remember so I don't have to tell you

why do I want to tell you

when can I tell you?

can I tell you something?

who made that decision

who is spontaneous

who is uncertain

when do we take turns, why do we take turns

why is it so easy, now

will you write back to me

will you tell me soon?

why don't you ask me questions

where will I put all of these things

what do you think of craters of the moon nat'l park

what do you think of idaho

why would you go to idaho

why am I in idaho

what's my excuse

will you cry tonight? you said we would all cry tonight if we're honest, will we all be honest?

why is my brain such a pretty brain

why is my brain such a pretty brain, is it

what do you think

what can I show you

when can I show you

what if

when was the first time

when will be the first time

will it be the first time

for me

I was drunk last night-

 this one’s for me. do you ever think about it?

do you ever think about it?

do you ever think about it?

Sometimes I think I know everything,

sometimes it’s later at night, during the time a moon normally shows,

especially when on nights before so strong a moon shone,

and sometimes, too, it’s distracting when everyone else can say it earlier than I, and

who cares? the smell is there, and I have the olfactory moments in me thick & true,

and by the by telling you that I am here in the woods, with a laptop

which somehow seems perfect

because I am no earth mother

I am a Typist

and the delete key, the letters lit up, are the tools that keep em going

when I could just sleepingbag out right now on a T on a lake, waves lapping

lapping lapping sloshing, all night long

Instead, I am here, soberest, knowing. You know, I know.

But sober enough to know that you don’t really know.

I see better with my eyes closed,

with my head sort of

with my heart an open hand. if that would near it, what I try to say

OH

and fail to say.

Sorry if you don’t, because I always will. & so glad you don’t, so I’ll never have to.

My dog has these

these

these

these words are so unimportant to her!

o nevermind, the world won’t end before I remember what I was going to say.

mediocre moments in half snow

I watched She-Devil the other night, after showing up late for the BSU game. We were nervous. We began in the cemetery, where we left the limeaid bottle after consuming casually on a headstone. The roar of the crowd could be heard for miles. The muffled jock jams rocked our gourds. Are we ready for this? Bedecked with orange & blue Boise State chairs and an expensive fleece Broncos blanket. I stuffed various accouterments in my tights; my erection was made of tequila. My phone warned me that my inbox was 88% full, would I mind erasing unwanted messages? I erased the mess. Once inside, my pregnancy startled no one. Why was I so nervous? to be kicked out from a football game? I was entranced by the performers. The cheerleaders, with  their fleshtoned nylons and cellulite and off-time moves. The swish swish swish of their hair as they attempted unison. The players, some with small heads, some with thighs like trees. I could see them all naked, and it overwhelmed me. How does one find pants to fit such a thigh? and how does one's penis look when compared to the nearby limbs jutting huge? The bored cheerleaders of the opposing team; if there was room for a cellphone on that warmup suit, they'd be texting their days away. 

She-Devil stars Roseanne Barr and Meryl Streep who plays this amazing romance novelist who surrounds herself in pink. I went to brunch yesterday, sick, and ate a croissant. After excitedly relaying the joys of She-Devil, I received a 100% affirmative reply from the members of the party that Meryl Streep is a great actress. One hundred, mind you! Historically, (we share initials and even names) I have never met anyone (aside from my mother) who is willing to agree that she is a fine actress.

And today, my friends are drowning. Some of them sorrowfully, and some of us, in coughs and dripping orifices. Why is it that my orifices continuously drip no matter what? and which? Some call with favors, showing up at a snowcovered doorstep days later. At least the demands are doable. But some of these persons just aren't intoable. I'd like to take a late snow walk; a companion, chosen by me, would be necessary. I want out of this corner, now, at least out enough to feel the breeze flow between my ears. Under the beaver moon, I must. I know how to dress for warmth.

the day could look of you all along

prettylittle 76 - 79

The day looks forward, pertaining right now. I see far past this, I think. I might resemble twilight, & cashmere. Were you thinking? I want to. It matters, dim, indistinct, and I love that much. Deny the attentions, those appearing active in their recognition.

My hands are made of women, of twilight, sight as certain lanterns see. Living clavicles which are bats and insects filled with light. I think about it, but I can’t see. The window is open, we are able to slice but the crepuscular memory. The sun or the moon. I can’t see fresh air in my living everyday by them, in that cimmerian place. Let’s move environments, new reflection doubtless it be believed. Still on that island I want to illustrate, loves distorted and we've all night to understand. I am afraid, all the music mutilated, the night is a little more of a lot.

I want to know raining but my new irrecoverable smell wants to tell me in a song. It’s quite culpable, with me, it follows, and who is deserving a blame? I had always thought this; anyway it’s threads of censure, you know?

The most special out there, a mind unusual, honest, as I stop you. I am listening to art and I really wanted you. Importances, oftentimes, my originals, valued as curiosity. To be there of secrecy comes the bloated new, some curio of you all along.

no v ember

the sight of leaves on street. the fold of my hand around one, veins transluscent through and towards a streetlamp, or the bright of the sun, or the shine of the moon. The wet sky making through the dark of the early night, visible only too by these orange and yellow lights. the size of one leaf, bigger than a face. the sight of a leaf appeared dipped bloody, or into the juice of a beet, or any other naturally staining intoxicant discharged by a wet autumn root.

harvest moon

To be literal, you were missed... but the moments with you last night spelled all if otherwise. Your wise face almost screaming down to us in light, illuminating all the yard and the bench and our cold breaths. The harvest is so icy this year.

yearn at the corn moon

In the tempts of maize, I attempt to weave around. Maze around in brightest-lit coldergrowing night. Chicha de jora, milk substance, strawlike color. In the americas of the opposite, tantalizing hemisphere it is drunk from a maize fermented by mine and your own ptylin enzymes in our open mouths, our readiest salivas. How it is true, then! The wild yeasts yes, but how forgettable is that of you, of us! Our own bubbling, budding abilities. We have within us, the powers of the distillation. Mine in yours, and mine in mine. My saliva in the fruits of earth, my burbling beings in the taste of a large white moon.

beaver moon

and we wonder to see it through the grey, tonight. The air is colder and the rain comes down as if in prophesy. And I'm going there in gulps/ \just accidents. The sky from a window view from sitting here crosslegged with the left falling into a deep sleep on the beige sheets of 500threadcount egyptian cotton one lighton, to the left illuminating otherwise just that window in me, the textured sky now because of rain like a fuzz on a screendoor, mini webs built by mini spiders, microscopic chasms filled all-ways with silken threads too small to see or touch or be swept by...... The creosote in the windowbars, tree leafless for Autumn and nearing to december closer everyday. A horn beeps just once below, cars splash the walks, I anticipate umbrellas, even those of a lepoardprint persuasion, and then in later dates of future the songs I will write sadly to sing whilst idly a keyboard is touched, and training my own throat and hair and instruments. Only the warm keys beneath the heels of hands and pads of fingertips. My water is full of waves like the messy ones, ones which capsize a floatboat at the laziest overestimated swash, swishing it over upsidedownwards just because of confusing spell, slepp slepp slepp.

ringlets dripped down of wind

& the hot spicy tastes lingering awhile down my throat. This morning was looking too good could be true, I saw through dizzy fogged eyes out a window and through a fan, the orangeyellow leaves fluffed out a bit now, not drooping sad in the view. The sky a perfect ocean wash; I could see the tides breaking from where I sat squinting. Like a to be hot day on the coast, but during that time of pre-heat, (though in truth I think proves perfect out, and oh such fall. Autumnal in all its obviousness. I will never close these parentheses. My hair has little knots at its ends. I let the fan blow no matter the temperament of day. I like the slow accordion sound. I like the spicy herbs, dandilion leaves. I like the cold ankles, the anticipatory shower, & poems written for you, & the little documentations of love, & the secret smile at corners of my mouth (in regard), And those trees everblowing more and more orange everyday! Like to change the seasons, already! And the full hunter's moon, tonight, which is why then I stopped to bleed, which is why I urge vocally in silence for you to return to me, this subtle soft sour I have for you, to glean in these bright fields, to roam among my fattened deer. & something about the excitement, feeling heartbroken when hearing a peice of music or reading something tantalizing, and falling in love & dying in the same moment at the fear awe of something so bewildering, so great; and this all of this is a bit like that but without the right words to describe. Every minute & then again every week-end. But my moon is bright and my deer are fat. And my arms stay open late.

head over heels / sunburst and snowblind

Happiness abounds. Here, on display, a few pertinents from CONJUNCTION #7. I can't commit to its entirety. Just some lines running through my head at this moment. Sent off some in a loveletter; realizing how good I am at loveletters, how unsullied they can be through all imperfects, past or present. How good I am, and how badly I incorporate my own real life. But, no matter, sentences are worth more than given justice.

I’m so cautiously wondering if it is

about to happen for a moment

I’ve saved it for the bushes

somewhere
noticed it wonderful,

the verging of panic

It’s snowing like the grass,

(forewarning) a moment, gorgeous

Thinking a soft moist mass isn’t an exaggeration.

I try to invite plants or flour

(and a brief pause)

because it’s snowing

Then he heard a voice applied to the body.

it’s over and I know there’s no chance

in the deepest blue of relief.

Bite angrily into the darkest depths

of reality calling over.

Inflammation in despair at why even exists she.

Talk, did I think this would, and even if it did

(the exact color of sunlight foolishly),

He’d come south wearing a soft blue, tediously

interrupting in a car through the snow to be warm.

The same color of her.

Something suddenly with the likes of me.

She had high ecclesiastical sexlife; he’s got everything

else and he watched with fascination as she moved

toward prepuce.

That is supposed to fix the rest of the life?
Up there

in the world already?

She was carrying a bunch of red and orange tulips.

This lonely, lonely, so amazing.

I am clutching his fold of skin, closer to his waist.

Surrounding the person to whom you’re attracted but

who means nothing save for one hand.

Clitoris is little romantic joy

This ridiculous waste of a morning.

The collector of prepuces, she’s been with someone else.

Lies are good, she smiled magic tricks

She didn’t seem recklessly extravagant.

looks at the ground

To explain yourself
I’m glad I caught you licentious

My relationship lies are pertinent tonight and
we’d like

dissolution.

Vigorously do I know you a little bit more

an inclination I don’t have…

sometimes these ideas linger, eyes sparkle like

that natural tendency to fall asleep awhile

before underwater emeralds.

In a particular way she doesn’t touch me again,

and then over to catching the sunlight, encouraging,

looking down quietly and childish.

Couldn’t stand there, excessive interest with great sadness.

I do not know for much longer.

Sexual matters I find, something else but I remember him tonight…

salacious, obsessed, concentrating on forcing a smile.

Licentious, she kisses me closely blood
pumping lascivious

my mouth intently hot. She was lecherous and leaves, but then

I accidentally admire tulips
to her chest,

lustful and quickly allowed.

Flames on concupiscent tears,
night on the silken pink.

Trivial perfumes… a tangle of mindthorns.

But we can hear each other inside.

The discharging of love breathing around courage;

timid.

Aching in panic instant inside now.

A square with pain warm from it… tonight/ feeling

I'd want not to.

Across the lawn from loss

a circle in love with sleep

bounded by a curve

feels not Mediocre

the position of the moon
happens to days and moments

and months effective.

Being in a state perfect elsewhere. I’m the only one

who feels the urge.

I’d want to keep it still inactive

so I’m silent, reticent, judging for a reaction,

caught up in the romance of happy and alone.

Wanting to be impassive as always

and the pursuit of unreachable goals with certainty

I know obsession, foolishly impractical happy

a year or more goes by

I’m not obsessed with the pursuit of ideals, looking

at other things.

If I was obsessed capricious,

the philosophers I love

would have impulsive suicides.

I don’t celebrate quiet

Unpredictable is left for today when his eyes, in which

words and his closeness and hands are represented,

flood love.

All that, all over, combinations of pictures I don’t want.

I don’t care if he was, for instance, to suck me dry.

Care about eyes represented by a picture.

So I can suck it dry, for him. If he cares, I know.

A person to whose name it punningly alludes,

suck someone else dry.

a person with parasites (I could).

I was never so revealing.

Anything to say…

I have a strong memory.

I think treating sexual, killing time.

Living in regret and distaste,

willing to give indecent.

A chance display      you in a bed becoming enraptured

Gasp the life out of everything.

He put his arms around enjoyment of the subject,

and you remember sex

and you remember regret.

The red glow of the slow.

Stately, enraptured by a display touched.

Such a dance, and you find yourself logically.

Screamed worldly things

and imagining it’s nothing in those things which are

not regarded as the moon,

and the grass means nothing.

You will be on her side; sacred could

have never meant less.

Such a drastic change of the temporal.

Let’s not try to transcend.

(Out of respect

to the distant temporalities.)

I died

I almost died by ambulance this time, tonight it was speeding through with only lights and engine sound to warn, no music of sirens, not a thing. Seconds on time was I, to life everlasting. Disasters distracting as shapes from outwards of nowhere. Delicious departures from certain snowy landscapes (of a mind). Still fawning, breathless. Envisioning seaweedscapes, a mind full and collapsed, envelopes of dramatic dream memory sway, each little disaster eclipsing in on itself. It would have been an anniversary to end all anniversaries, inside but not to mention a full moon to end all moons full. I am so incipient, excited for my day of birth. I will see the 24th year. In all manner of ellipses. Breaths of doom lush ever ending nervesway.

˚ I D I E D ˚ I D I E D ˚ I D I E D ˚ I D I E D ˚ I D I E D ˚

---

I almost

Died by ambulance,

It was speeding

Engine sound

Day of birth

I,

Disasters

In on,

Envisioning seaweedscapes, a mind full and collapsed,

Delicious

It

Distracting ash shapes from outwards of nowhere.

Inside

Envelopes of

Departures from certain snowy.

I,

Dramatic...

I am so excited for my

Each

Dream memory sway,

Inside

Disaster

In all manner of

Eclipsing

Doom brush never

---

To, was with only from the landscapes (of a mind). Little lights and warn, no music of sirens, not a thing. Seconds on time was to life everlasting. Ellipses. Breaths of to mention a full moon

would have been an anniversary to end all anniversaries, not to end all moons full. The 24th year will see ending nervesway.