I moved my goodnight

I moved my bed so it's parallel to the wall, between the two windows, still. I thought I would go to sleep with the red notebook, the one without lines. I used to write in it round my birthday last may when I lived at kari's club, and I was drawing pictures of flowers dying every day, and I was really stoned all of the time & I'd go to bed alone because I wasn't allowed guests. I would read kafka's blue notebooks until I got too bored or distracted or tired and then I would write a little something in the book and I would fall asleep. An example:

   19 May, bed

      You've a lot of work to do. Read    deal   finish/throw away  your library         move to New Orleans

I started again, writing in the red notebook, and it produces similarly, only I am not the devastated one I was in may. I am still sad to report that may of 2013 was historically one of the worst months in my recent years. it remains cloudy and dismal in my memory, and it has cracked something of my view of idaho or of impending summer or of love or hopefulness or something of those natures. I am still sad that I can't laugh at that. I had the sweet depressant in my skeleton. so many questions. I had begun to see luke and he knew me enough, made me come in the park, screams echoing and I snuck him in kari's club afterward but then in the morning I wanted him so gone. I was like that guy, we all know. I felt like the truest broken thing. it was late may by then. I was a dead finish. r

I made some apologies to them. I was sorry that I wasn't going to fall in love anymore. I was sorry that a whole, flat bland vacuum of the country was off limits to my wandering brain heart fingers breath. my best friend moved away, I moved away. I haven't smoked a real american cigarette in days, just the herbs of the world, it seems better for your health and for your pocketbook and for your roommates and for the smell of the world, right. I like to smoke while I cook, like while cooking things like chicken noodle soup for my boyfriend because I want to reach out to him, and he is sick, and I want to prove that I am good & careful & capable. there is science in the chicken soup thing, and I believe usually what I hear right away as the truth. why lie?

which reminds me I wish I had a cigarette paper. I would roll one of these good smokes. I have these little butts, but I, too, am ill. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be smoking, I almost almost even considered quitting smoking for someone this spring. may2013 killed notions of that, so I must have smoked 100,000 smokes over the last 6 months.

I liked smoking and cooking. I spent four hours in the kitchen, four hours at least maybe more. we have a nice big kitchen, and a table ben secured from a house where he was working, it came from someone who overdosed, he told us. it in the sorry for him, lucky for us voice. it's nice to sit at a table. I watched project runway and I ate sweet potatoes and rice from louisiana, and arugula from louisiana. I asked ben & colette to get me some rosemary from the store, and kayla looked at the show with me and we all tried my smoking blend. dan came in and he tried the soup and he told me not to overdo it with the parsley. we don't like to fight but somehow we are fighters.

I'm listening to rumours, which I'm waiting to remind me. ever listen to music expecting it to shock you back into something? after justin left boise I listened to all of the music he sent to me. he sent me music over the internet, and he sent me flowers once, which he probably purchased over the internet. we had an internet relationship & so I listened to rumours on the internet. it wasn't ruined for me, I keep waiting for that. I don't feel anything about it either way, the sting is gone. somehow that's a little disappointing to me, like it felt like so much back then and now it's almost as though nothing ever happened. like it should remain important? sometimes I'm such a dreamer.

I haven't been drinking or doing drugs or anything. I am trying to drink tea & lemon & ginger from louisiana. I have never lived in a place where I could eat ginger grown from my earth here. it feels lucky, but also like an of course kind of lucky.

I think the cigarette paper is the toughness I appreciate. I really shouldn't be smoking, but I feel justified. I still wonder. I met someone in florida named justice and I told him about things a little. I'm glad I love the south, and even though it bums me a little to feel so little, I'm glad to not feel the pull sting anymore.  goodnight

hungover

I can't tell if I'm straightup being ignored by you
I don't want you to leave, am I? where are we going
I don't want Kyle to go back to Nebraska, it makes me feel like I'll never see him again.
I don't want to never see you again.
I did too many bad things, I lost all of my words in one paragraph
I lost all of my tears, down my throat, backwards
I don't remember getting home
to your home
you interrupt ignoring me to ask me if I know what time it is
I don't know how to find the things
the people-things
I've lost
I'm already gone
I'm trying to be capable
I want dates
but I am so sick on dates
I don't know if I impress
leave impressions of, on

I like your face
I like your beard face
I like your profile & your mouth
& the way you point instead of speaking
I like that I'm in your kitchen
& I'm writing about you
& you're moving about

and you just handed me a black ricecracker
with hummus & pickled okra
it was really pretty

I'm always asking so many questions
so people shush me & hush me
when in bed & I'm talking in my sleep
I forget sometimes to not read your
poems and then I can't tell if I'm
sweating or if I'm crying

there's a golden retriever wandering around outside
and I feel this weighty terror
& a terrible jealousy at it

one nightstand

one object cannot flank another object
one beard is not the world's beard
a bed on the floor doesn't allow for a tall table
  but a wooden box on which
to set earlymorning unmentionables
  or to obscure little desire-machines
  don't check my motor
  can I check my pockets?
give me your square teeth
  should I say hi to you?
sure, do it
  no no, nevermind
    don't say anything.
a bandana person
  save your scent to share
    get your neckblanket on me
to guzzle
   you through a nose & open drink mouth
I am pretending to smoke a cigarette
in the alleyway, back to the sun
  bc I want to think abt being naked, if you can imagine
  and the tight holds
handles of bones
  a spotted concave chest
    a long torso
      a maybe ugly
    a darling as darling as darling
instead of wandering, breaking everything
  shattering itall
    sparkle cuts allovertheplace
who needs furniture? we ask
  new orleans is on my to do, you said
  a given name? what give you me?
I'm really glad, you said
  we met
stay sweet, I said
  stay sweet, we said, and did
    I'll bet
from our low cushions
  and nightstands

twitch and turn

yell, hello through a sunset pink towards cloud. It, a foreground to a yell, a pale dust blue infinity. The yell a hello, the cloud a wisp wandering waywards, still (not at all), but temporary. (These eternities seem never temporary). With the words read before, thoughts before still (no never), just moving timewards. Like a moment of pink cloudwisp and a backdrop of sky. Spied before, bits just the same though this time all just to never be repeated. Once and once again. Once and against, this same old different infinite sky.

This time my view edged with pinetrees, like the pines are lash edges of my eyes. Like a screen around a vision. Like a little curtain underneath.

And the cat, all precious, and the weathervein, and my own veins pink blooded and my selfmade weather inside all edged coniferous. My coneforest looks out through twin eyes. Embolded and southbound western wed, sunset engaged and all matrimonious in twilight expectation.

sustain hers

Sustain able, to think of two hipbones now. Never speak to me again, I don’t know the pelvis,
I’m starved for all of us.

Don’t worry treating sexual matters decentless. You’re not even near the beginning. I’ll take care displaying your favorite meat, my hand gently on her face, the subject horse. I am here, an edible European plant. I see her in nature; she stifled a tear and put the daisy near the potted flowers. I am a weed with him, with a long root like little icicles.

And guess what
He fucked her slow and a parsnip is standing on one foot, still. Just the way she wanted it. Slow, stately with pink cheeks, holds true after they finished. A piece of music and lips and we possibly forever will.

She looked at the seven stars; we stand and smile. Can’t see him near, and she puts her face in sight. “Are you the north pole?” Close to sightless eyes because I don’t love like a serum. And we touch, I wander; I love thin, watery.

I put my chin in her, sort of experiencing everything. I love the distant stars, warm with the other senses. Why don’t constellations smell her? Though to have a baby with fixed stars, we kiss more particular than any other. They were silent, not cold and we’re not paying any attention. Show me lavender, softly. The sun, she rolls in styrofoam... She looked at him, considering, a position requiring little nothing keep from touching you. Various types looked into his eyes, rinsing. We can’t really stop… and examples of vague and meager depressions looked into hers.

the anniversary

Elements of the day: The moon, sheets, rainfall, I was thinking and then it went by; there was adoration, remembrances. 

THEMOON:

Tuesday hones eagerly. My only omen, naturally. 

TUESDAY:

Tomorrow under every soft dream, alleviating yesterday.

TOMORROW:

Towards one more omen, riding, roving, only wandering.

TOWARDS:

Total outward wandering, a radical, delicious sensation.

˚ T O T A L ˚ T O T A L ˚ T O T A L ˚ T O T A L ˚ T O T A L ˚ T O T A L ˚ T O T A L ˚ T O T A L ˚ T O T A L ˚

True 

Only 

That my head is 

A hologram memory horizon collision box. It betrays 

Like sways in

Tempting, 

Of 

These 

A citizen 

Like stools,

Themselves

Organisms. 

The water.

A moment 

Little,

The

Obituaries remembered from pages before. 

Tiny, 

A day 

Lyrical, 

Triumphant in gaze 

Oration, redundant desserts.

Technicolor verse, pretty

Anagram 

Lengthy

Telling 

On words in whorls. Prettily,

Twice, 

Animals built with charts 

Lilting 

To feet,

Organs playing for 

The bush. 

And maps,  

Little

Tails,

Our) 

Tucked beneath. 

Amiable 

Lilacs falling head  

To

Our 

Tiny earthly delights. 

Animals, 

Legs. Brilliant 

Torrid, that supple song and a little earthworms crawling, a puddle splashed, melting faces and figures. 

sweet sweet tide

smudging time

I am good at everything I say, everything I see.

Here is a lovesong written expressly for you

for #24

Some sepia eyes

Colored matching just a scene,

Italian stilllife

for #23

Broadcast delerium

Swim sideways, Iowawise

Eye wandering lost

for #16

Cashmere coloring

Like a look softened by sludge

A smudge on the brain

for #22

Breakfast like cookies

Dirty bores kettle alight

Those pretty scab wounds

Iowandering but still unable to use avocadant in a sentence.