Thursday, August 16, 2012


i could do everything that i'm not going to do.
for instance, watch a movie once
and if it's worth rambling about then for a second time
that takes an entire day
of rewatching rewinding gathering and writing my ultimate thought
and calling every one of my friends to ask their opinion of the movie
then spending a day evaluating the effect of each opinion on the
ultimate thought i built
then casually dismantling my ultimate thought
and eating the edible part
and going to sleep in excited fits of dreams
knowing i will do another movie tomorrow
until death.

Monday, August 13, 2012


when i woke up, i called you and said that it doesn't matter how you sound. i believe that. maybe you should stay quiet and lengthen your legs. of course, everything i say is set in a sling and then you say ow. you say ow to make me kiss you. i kiss you and it tastes like sublimated ice air. i call you IT from this point on until you slap me so hard i spit up on your toes.


90% of the reason i'm composing in blogtro is made up of j r fyfe.  two years ago my ladyish friend and i started reading each other's writing more and at the same time i started talking to some dude i instantly thought of as a major force for making.  my parents looked away from my poetry but didn't tell me to stop.  maybe this is lucky.  maybe i had to fight a long time for my mom to say that she is awed over how much words mean to me.  i think that love sets a table and asks me to sit and that is thanks to lucky forces.  but the food the food.  it is hard to make the food.  people who have everything waiting to be made starve out of terror.  the terror of movement.  the terror of risk.  pangs of aloneness crank in my chassis, too.  don't you forget this:  being ok with hurt doesn't stop hurt from hurting; it simply stops hurt from stopping movement.  when sadness is spit in my face because i can be happy, it terrorizes my food golden brown and steals a little.  i will leave it out anyway.  i will leave it out all day.  maybe someday i'll stop showing my glaring poison face and then i will nod at my older friend's warnings but bite my muscles juicy til them and chew my enlightened skeleton dead.  have it until i rewrite this.  

Sunday, August 12, 2012


smack on the crust of our planet.
shimmying doesn't help me walk
off the mountain. trotting
that blisters my digits unmindful
but carries me.
i could quote 'the adamant' only
by quoting the entire.
mouthing around the dry pit
of the peach.
another era made from learning words
where the words are
felt understandings of song phrases.
pouring slowly and forming
an encasement of cave particles
around my face and below my face
and under my face and in my face
and over my face
and in place of my face.

Sunday, August 5, 2012


i think it’s weird you think
that it is lazy to use the words we all use
in order to say what i think.
where do you think anyone gets
the combination?
from the melted energy core they are?
i think it’s weird
that we are chopping
but do i ever love it.
simplify something that still exists
into a new smaller thing
the emblem of one take.
this could be what is so great about having kids
except for the fact that they
overcomplicate into us.
don’t talk about kids like that.
some kids learned too early
how to cut parts of themselves away.
they grew up into my friends.
i arrogantly assume the roots of problems.
no no i hypothesize.
each one has these things
that everyone loves
and these other things that
some love and some do markedly not love.
that’s why you can’t hack out what someone doesn’t love.
or why it seems like a real stance to 
take a specific opinion into your wiring
and let it flip the burn switch without any oversight.  

Wednesday, August 1, 2012


i don't know where to be for my friends.
my idea of "here" is stirred by a love for sent text.
flipped over by fifteen hours on the
brittle strip of nothing that skims past
the Flying Deer of the universe
who pretend to be standing on "ground"
while they drink from my headlights
and i cruise away screaming. 
my friends include someone who broke off in my guts
before my guts were grown, and i think about how
little i was and how little i knew him before
the day he broke dishes accidentally, trying to
help me get away from my entire life that he lived in. 
the span is an albatross of years.
not the kind around a neck,
the kind me as an elegant mouse can fly on.
can a child ride an eagle?
/can a child ride a dog dragon?
windows move.  earth moves
around windows that stay still.
i heard you yelling from that space between
that and that that a familiar man calls
"the slices of twilight pie on your tongue
though they escape you while you're still tasting the story you'll make up to see later instead".