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The sun climbs over one mountain just to put shade on another peak. * He was twelve when he died which is better than eleven so I guess he could be happy but I was twelve and a bit so I was pretty sad looking at him with his hair unhair like his lips unlip like … Continue reading
Her stomach blurts out something onto my elbow while she scratches below like an itch and the night listens to how our bodies moan as day rushes to peek at us too * This is the end so let’s at least pretend we’re excited as we were in the beginning while we barter over an organ … Continue reading
Met this kid who asked why I looked the way I looked and I said it’s cause I wanted to look the way I looked and he said it wasn’t much to look at and I saw myself for the first time, though I had to look away. * You’re a poet so you should … Continue reading
It was just a mistake, which I suppose all things are like how I’m holding her hand with my fingers loose around her knuckles the way an innocent man grips onto an electric chair as she adds that that was a mistake too, which I suppose all things are like the uncontrolled splatter she sits … Continue reading
Scribbles was a tough pussy with a pink bow that tied a knot of golden tuffs just above his lips that would hover over the bowl of water while you watched and he refused to take a drink because he didn’t want to show a sniff of vulnerability even if that meant he would die … Continue reading
Bury the bodies where they lay and lay down still like a beast when you tire She cries before we say a word to each other, and years have been silenced in the perfect sentence that expresses all we need to without expressing anything, that attempts to say what can’t be said but is said … Continue reading
She wants me to inhale when she exhales, for her to be my breath, but we are only sharing waste between us, poison from the cells to the cells. * The walls are skin thin and wet when the neighbours in my condominium mow the lawn with their teeth but not with too much bite, just … Continue reading
Wet dogs clean themselves better than this fatty bus slopped with age that streaks its wear into me with each bump and I wonder if the first astronauts looked back and asked where they were going to go now because they’d never get off at that stop again where toothpicks poke up, up, up pretending to be … Continue reading
I am an empty, flabby bag of skin going bad that was going to write my last poem today but I cut my thumb while capping the pen and I saw that there was still a little bit of me left to read and a little bit more that could press itself onto you until … Continue reading
The only advice my father ever gave me was to never be a father. * My father taught me how to be a writer by pounding away at something unformed and useless until it stops quivering and bleeding and sits still, waits, listening to the quiet of ideas. He knew what he knew, which is great, … Continue reading
Mizpellt wurdz 