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.

lately

elements of a day

downpour, palms asway, explosion on the wires. your grip on me.
laying in bed with the clouds
balcony
nevereat
benevolence
the perfect soup
mirepoix
driving in the rain
personal hell, snores in stereo, clock tick tocking, tick tick tocking, tick, tock
little roach
bigface, pockmarked
folding your sportcoat over the spine of the sofa
new cold wind
new baby asthma
fighting the funk
fortunate,
luck

regretless

I fell in love with a lithuanian name
he was my best friend, he shared his xanax with me from time to time
I would have anxiety attacks in those days
we would dress up
in ponchos
and feathers
and we would play pool and ride bikes and drink mountains of old style and sing karaoke everyday
and we'd have sex in soapless showers
he would sing, wouldn't it be nice? by the beach boys
but he had a longdistance love
and we both knew our time was short

on his last day in town
I discovered bloody marys
they were $1 at the bridgeport sports bar.
we stayed there for hours, playing pool, drinking thousands of bloody marys
the bartender stopped charging us for them.
there was a thunderstorm that night
and I knew I was going to cry
so I took off my shoes and climbed into a tree outside the bar.
I sat up there for awhile, screaming with the wind
& it was so loud I couldn't hear my voice.
I couldn't wind my thoughts & goodbyes.
I watched the lightning all around me.
I waited until I was finished howling
before I came down
my knees were bloody from scraping up the bark.
I went into the bar and borrowed a pair of scissors.
I cut the button I'd had dangling from a string around my neck
and I gave it to him.
he knew I was going to give it to the next person I fell in love with.
he told me that he loved me, too.
I cried all night while we laid in bed together,
he took off this grubby tiedyed shirt that I'd given him
so I could blow my nose on it.
I found it a couple of days later, smashed between the bed and the wall

I saw him again, 5 years later

his band came to town

it was my 28th birthday.
we sat in someone's convertible in the parkinglot outside the bar
and we talked about how we loved each other
and how we were
and how we were.
I wonder if I'll ever see him again

hysteriaparty

haha

I am laughing, it rarely sounds like that, but I am full of it

 my dad used to say I was full of it a lot

 it took me awhile to realize being full of it is being full of shit

I was young, shit as shit didn't cross my mind

I left work yesterday and took nathan with me, and he met her

and she had that shellshocked look, like who's this man in my house!

and I don't care... but I should

  I should care, really I should

I locked us out of the house, I had to call Nickey to ask her to rescue us

we sat in the car

  Nathan drank the end of a bottle of flat rosé

  and I drank an apricot cider from a jar

and we smoked, and we listened to the lana del rey pandora station

  and I read him a bad poem, but I didn't write it

  we laughed

  he buttoned up his pale blue collared shirt to the top 

and he put on one of the bolo ties that hangs from my rearview mirror, 

  the one someone in my family got as an easter present in the '60s

  with the aqua leather and the silver horse running.

she rescued us

  we bought more beer

  we took our beachchairs

and I got into the river.

the others came & I had the other others on my mind

  and I was tired of looking at everything

  like my hair, my body

Nathan said If it's inside me, if it's invisible, it doesn't exist

and I said, What lungs? and the crowd echoed, laughing  

                 Liver, who?

I was tired of looking around until the wind picked up

  a fuzz layer took our sun away

   Where's my son?

then the cotton was floating around from the branches,

  it looked like snow

I looked downriver, the wind blowing all the trees, the white fluffs

and I thought this looks like the strangest storm

  here, with my damp swimmingdress on

  and the warm

  and the vague light of the sun,

but this could be a winter's storm

and this could be snow.

what if it was snowing right now?

the wind picked up around us, blowing us over

I went to the car to get sweaters

I got naked in the car for a minute

I walked on the sharp rocks

I told myself to stop looking for it

to stop searching it out

to do what it takes to unlatch

  and when I'm drunk, it's so easy to clear everything but these sorts of words

   with an understanding chuckle, here & there

but I woke up sober, so here I am again

teeth in, ready to anxiety-attack myself

  but what doesn't go away

  is the knowledge that you don't inspire me, you any

                                     & I don't admire anything about you, at all

  and of course, this makes me feel more the fool

as I continue

something so gross,

  so uninspe-rable

  so unadmire-able

but I'm going to go cut my hair now,

  the ugly ombre that everyone brings up

   because I've got to save that money

   because we've something like 44 days

until I break

   physically

from my gooey cords 

  giving me sicklife

  from your gross shells. I wish this was only but finally about one person

a one You

  so I could have an explosion party, so I could blow you up

but You are Many too Many and my brain splashes

 in an overdone explosion party

   where I'm the only once celebrated, and I'm the only one lauded 

and I didn't even get invited because I 

just

live there

"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

float float float float float float, tear & sink

why can you make me cry? no, no, of course you don't make me do anything. but why do my heads stuff up with tear balloons at you, sometimes. it isn't you, I know. I haven't ever met you. so why. it's not a question. I have thoughts of you, I fill them with those float-making gases. we all know I am a gasballoon, I shove it out into space. I am actually really sorry, in a nonapologetic way. I think it is called pity. do my tear wells come out with pity pies for you, then? maybe I have pitied you all along. pity has never been an act of love. I have never loved you. I will always love you. which is true, is it both true. this isn't questions. am I an empathetic one? am I sympathy for only finally but me. I am truly sorry. I wish I could touch you all the way down. I wish I could explain how I wish I could understand. I wish I could be there in the deep part to understand someone else. I am understanding of me. I want to share it, understanding can be an infinite thing, no? well, that is definitely not a question. but I am sorry, for you. I think you are better than you think you are, better than you think I think you are, but you don't think of me at all but how would I know? this is no question. I ask a lot of questions, don't I. that wasn't really one. I ask a lot of questions at the wind and they won't answer back at me. so there aren't any, it's like I wasted the wind trying to get something back from a wind that's gone long before I've sent anything out in it. it's dispersed invisible before it even hits the dispersed invisible, you know? you don't know, so there's no question in that. be okay, please, I do think so, I do want it to be like that for you. I hope you get out of there & in something else. a hope is a sort of question. a hope is a gassy balloon. hope is for the clouds & we live in there. or I do. I'd ask if you do, but you aren't answers at all. only finally but stop making me cry. you can't make me do anything. you are a free country

the universe is trying to tell me

to have a happy birthday,
what does the universe tell you?

there's this awful person
she's my mother's realtor
she wears a visor and a vest and has a lexus mini suv, but this isn't what makes her a bad person

we were reading about her type in this self-help book at the cabin, The Dance of Anger: A Woman's Guide to Changing the Patterns of Intimate Relationships

she's a Blamer

I knew she'd try to make me cry

but I just feel a wind at me to get me going now

like all of everything & everyone I know here is pushing me gently to an edge

and I'm supposed to fall crash fly whatever

but what the fuck ever

hey

I'll never be pretty again

hey

I'll have the best bursts

hey

I can explain it all

GTFOOH 

   byedaho

poem(s) for the mind

from crepuscular orations

My body is too old for my mind.
It brings to mind Samuel Beckett and Oscar Wilde.
My mind turning to compost.
My eyes are dry, my mind is tired, my body needs more movement...
my mind is not the adulterer.
Gaining weight in every part but the mind & the heart,
with all my mind & able body
If I could kill the internet of my mind, we'd be on to something.
This is the most boring thing one could write, mind you.
Avoiding my mind & body, too.
he is so powerful in my mind.
I couldn't mind if they don't
keep in mind,
my heart is more awake today, my mind is more.
I kissed him after he read my mind
on behalf of anyone who is involved in the pathetic game of a weak mind,
he rarely walks across my mind anymore.
In my sick mind.
Willing us in his little boy's mind
and never was sex on my mind.
Can I use it to fill my mind with passion?
The songs into which your mind sank.
My mind was filled with beautiful things last night, I was a true romantic genius.
wouldn't you mind
plays are on my mind.
Blew my mind over.
It would take my mind off sex, but my mind wasn't too terribly on sex;
to get my mind off everything.
I didn't mind,
the last cock on my mind for an eternity.
It is better to get out of here so that my mind is completely empty.
I won't mind once I'm there...
And I won't mind one day meeting the next!
My mind is fresh & pungent & accepting.
Mind is quick & thorough.
I do not only exist within my mind.
I don't even mind at all.
He doesn't mind.
Why can't he just give me a little peace of mind?
and he's on my mind...
all I can do for the sake of my right mind is to behave exactly the way I can & do & tend to want to.
it'll blow your mind.
Even if I love his mind and want more of it,
even if the love of his mind is juice.
I love his mind, yes, it's so curious and I want it,
my own laughter at my own hilarious mind.
Excepting his mind I want to hear and experience.
I don't mind never touching him or kissing him again.
But my mind was and is the deadest.
that will blow my mind.
my mind is over.

from momentos preciosas

If he'd mind, could I?
They wouldn't mind.
I felt my mind's eye wander back and behind me, through the open window
as my expectant mind was, just then, in the walkway south of the window.
My problem is not just dilation of the eyes but the mind, and my mind's hand in my life.
My mind dilates, contracts.
In my last mind I said,
narrow minds abound.
mind-blowing
and to softly let my mind spin webs of ideas and escape-feelings.
Just as the wind moves, so does the mind.
If my mind wasn't blank I could reap so dear and clear and bestow my benefits to everyone.

a quiet blanket around a quiet shoulders

Some if on an evening wait, and look up and to see in the surprise of a crystal solid darkness through an ice a star alit, about only millions if not trillions of miles from the eye. But through just such a dark quiet cold, wondering here, just further west for a body to live than ever, if such descriptions surprise, even... in a winter a wind expects me when I leave a house. On januaries it blows an ice arm over to clothesline a whip at me. I slap it until my hand is froze, thick with red, and slap sommore until it's thawed. a little chunk of wind warmed.

And so surprises saved for spring.

paint scrapes by

is it a blow of a leaf, side, a machine a little tiller up a lawn hill. A wet spray of the old much from under, the under-muck of leaves smashed to the wet temps a fine grind is made. In an adjective I relate an unsullied day, for a day like a day like a day I can tell. Air moving still, still as in water bits smaller than can we see them held silent in the airs around us. Not a wind to blow. only tube machine make a wind that so blows sidewalks clean. realized dust for water almost, hung in the airs. Walking through them a face becomes damp. Damp enough can't not even to be touched. Dry is soft awhile whilst wet is life.

orange cream mimosas

Just a silent winter I let about. The pretty shrinking nights capsize by a snow bout, fluff about a dark wind shorn the night gown down. It is for all the languages we speak. For all the feathers shred. The dark underlined paths, and the red fallow splits in snow-breaks. Hellow, tingling caller. Tingle thing collar.

nice in bed
knives in bed

I wind

6 June

ariel pink's haunted grafitti

I like almost all the world's things. Liking a cool dark, bottomless wish cupping away that it could come by so I would have not but to swallow it down, serviced & de uglified.

I, hearing music having watched long hair, grow through the air, limbs brushing against the wind.