ANGRY DOING

already attempting
to paint poems
like goya going deaf.
people singing threats
all the way from
the hidden side of the hill.
with my face i make
a scary goya.
i say
i don't want to get much older.
when i drive
i feel like the driver
of my childhood car
smashing everything.
i'm so good at
tiny demolition.
saying
"I HATE YOU"
over and over in an email
with the words
"i'm sleeping weird".
i don't hate you
loosely steering
my behaviors
like a combo
of good sweats
queueing up
hormonal responses.
every young man
in this building
is attractive and
it's putting me
to sleep,
in the sense that
i want to die.
by luck,
i read adrienne rich
telling her lover and me
that our hands are fit
to carry out the violence
to end violence,
and it causes me
to shake and
step back out of traffic.

ALL FLOWS OUT

in a noisy, i just look away.

needing advice for my coward

born with bruised wrists

because i was eating at them.

i don’t know the word twisting

when it does. i said 27/34

words of the poem my right mind

knows, and CLEAR IS MY SOUL

AND ALL THAT IS NOT MY SOUL.

to sleep is punishment.

eating is nice but

hunger is punishment.

i try for five days what took him

quite some years to live with.

i cut a lime the wrong way

only once. i cut it every day.

clear is my sensitive belly button

and the skin on my fattest parts

getting cold first.

because of chemical jewelry in my blood,

i have wanted to name a baby

since wednesday morning.

BECAUSE PAUL CELAN

over the evening paint 

of the first bulb's segmentation, 

a late husk, evermorning pigment 

separating from the plane of skin 

and not facing a barricade when it 

skims inways toward the lakebed.

it takes a second for my tactile feed 

to become audible, asking why 

has the yolk in you stayed whole 

all this time that clicks against it, 

threatening it, making me from below 

a lousy mouth hanging open in wait.

PINNED TO THE LAKEBED

i wanna puke
there's too much poetry for me.
my mouth won't close
i broke my crooked fronts on
scratching through the light boxing me.
i don't wanna cry but i am.
when's the last time i stood outside and waved until someone was gone?
i'm a floppy person
i guess i screech.
the floor is altered completely by one pillow.
why will no one stick her hand in my hair regularly?
i'll never try too hard to know.
in heaven
you get to choose your fatigue for a living.

AS IF CAREENED FORWARD TO MEET ME

many parts burnt
warm patches
of soft living problem
the food of all biting flies
the smelt leviathan
hey dog
how are your brains
i hear you cry
you look 12
you've been through many seasons
of trying to get pregnant
don't let me stop you
from romp and loud talk
not my place
my imagination
is a dashboard of touching
and i can't make anything
less than decades practiced
happen

trying for a magic dream

anyways i'm calling kyle jackson out of the water

my friend kyle

the first friend of my own west

the laughing river student

kyle i hear you fixing fence

kyle i hear you chuckling when i pee off the boat

it's cold on this rock

what can i think strong enough,

your image?

i rode on your bike with you driving it

about broke my foot

i saw skyfall with you

we both said "MOMMY ISSUES??!!"

you are in the too calm sea, kyle

your squeaky scruff, look at this beard,

aww good hug

i can hear you comforting the other six

bury the earth in wind if that makes you move

back in the direction of a beach to bless.

DANCING W/O A FACE

in this crowd surprised
i am both and moving
will something happen to one of us
that makes us sink ourselves
to find how we were 'before it'?
don't worry about
what i'm going to do
pity the onlooker
watching me yawn my body
and jiggle my endless head
all the way to the state line
i tried to find her
she'd been shocked outside
of her presence
at loss for grip
she doesn't like slavery
but i grab her and put her
back in with me
and we work over
to where smoke comes out
licking together like
the forked sense of
a single handsless brute
this is the story of
murder averted
at a point of overlap
there's every type of waste
she says she feels weird
waiting here
counting skin
looking at the floor
where i dumped out our drink

THE EARTH IS MADE OF PRIVATE PROPERTY

my body is proud of me.
the people i know think it's idiotic
to walk 20 miles over night.
but if i don't do it,
only the people who have to will.

i'm walking
to notice all the places
where it's illegal for a person to sleep.

there is a lack
of bathrooms.

a woman stopped and said
"do you want a ride"
and when i said no thanks she said
"it's dangerous out here"

but it's not.
it's just night.
it smells terriffic.

i haven't tried to live
in an 'actually dangerous' neighborhood,
mostly, it's the people who have to who do.

i'm not sure what will happen when i get to the point
where i have to walk next to a highway.

are the ditches full of water?
is there any safe/legal way to walk along the highway?

there are no predators in the ditches.
the sound of rabbits across grass startled me:
the sound of something running to me.
the sound of awake.

i'm walking
to demonstrate to my sister
that you don't have to pay anyone
to move your body
from one place to another.
little sister: happy birthday:
freedom will not kill you
even in the middle of the night.

i'm walking to see the sun come up.

i'm walking to get home over 20 miles.

i'm walking to rest myself.

if you don't understand
why i would want to do this,
i'm walking to tell you.

OPENING MY OTHER EYES

some are meant as hulls that
everyone can sing this song
for how many decades more.

now i will write a letter:

remember when i wrote that letter?
i would like to see it now.

if you bury a woman in dirt
who cares

i'm going to go on and on
i can see myself
in a mirror behind the bar

i can see myself
being a total fucking drunk
for real

not like pitcher while doing dishes
but like
wake up, feel like a brick,
drink over the cliff and go hooting
around the block.

i think that in 23 years i will be the witch of the neighborhood.
i don't know if it will be here.

i might never establish a solid lore.

i could pretty easily eat a cat.
especially if you leave me alone for a month.

i could probably beat something languageless
to death.

CHICAGO CITY CHICAGO STREET

plus signs for eyes means youre high

'that's the ol inverted taj mahal?'

a keith haring baseball cap for my love

little bitty city farming 

long walk thru buildings with moody bible

take me off the pier if youre ankle

a this burger has NO BURGER op

TO PEOPLE, ON A BASIS

i feel
too lazy to express desire.
something is wrong
around the nose/throat ducts.
maybe it's permanent.
mostly could be.
more eggs tomorrow.
i didn't ask for much
the entire time i was a child.
if a person ever showed me interest,
and i'd have to lie to say that
no one ever did,
i would play it off in a way
that was cooler than anything else
i've ever done in this life.
cooler than what befits me.
it still fits me.
please hold this thing.
it's sick, it doesn't feel well,
and i want to know what you would do about it
if nobody asked you to.

SUCCESS

don't show me history.
give it my whole heart.
everything i do is because
mastics and oaks are different to cut through.

i had to fight someone with an axe.
i had to aim for places that would kill me.

what's a maid for. i don't know yet.
she grabbed the basket.
she packed a machete.
what will i have to do?

i love my country. i live here every night.
my country wants one thing from me:
the meat slack in the mouth of my decap.
now get out of my garden.

maybe i'll get to crush him with my foot
maybe i'll get to feel him screaming through the blade
without being indifferent to his language.

my mother wants me to fall in love
but it's my job to do this beheading.

yews and cloves are different thicknesses.
the truth might let me die
but it won't kill me.

i could run away yesterday.
for many years i'm a curiosity
striding dressed up at night to the camp.

"what's in the basket?"
when i get there it's full of sexy
expectations but there's actually nothing.

it's for your head.  it's so
i don't have to leave my fingers
in your hair
after i'm done cutting through your bones.

my country doesn't believe anything else
i do. my country might make me marry my rapist.
it puts in thumbscrews.

my dad showed me how to paint
but no one cares for like 400 years.

it's my beheading.
it's my beheading.

give me the knife i want my beheading
to take home with me. 

NO! I WANNA RIP IT ON SATURDAY WITH EVERYBODY ELSE!

he's in a mood. some worker put a rebar through a tire and it's over. he has a signal to us all: when he sits down to the piano we scatter at his pounding and never getting it right. i'm prepared to use my hoodlum tools to smart myself out of that racket. oh boy it smarts. i did raise kids with a clean mouth and straght hair. before that there was a different palette and yes sir i used it. i'll tell you i used it. i don't mind saying so, it helped me pay off my loans.

THE FLOCK LEAVER

are you my mother still

when i feed you 

when i say "this is why i'd be a bad parent! (all poems no promises)"

i'd be a good parent

except in the evolutionary sense.

my offspring will be equipped 

to be banishéd.

fake babys of the mind.

this is why i can't have a dog

i forget or a cat i forget

what suffer means

came from songs.

i got jilted once and now

the middle of my tree is jiltwood.

you will never convince me

that i'm not a puke bucket.

make me a jenga tower

put away the heir there.

this me doesn't need it soft or nice

this me needs it to durate 

least that's what my boots say.

i've fallen from standing height

i've jumped from tall walls

and pretended to be dead

to the horror of my sister.

if i die now before i make a person

it's her who will keep me best.

PRESSURE SENSOR OVERLOAD

show me light ringing the bell in that building

the ticking beerheart inside his little boy body

i've never thralled in a thunderstorm??

if i did i was too young??

i'll tell you now and i sure mean it

there's only my innie

between me and my drowning 

in the sin of silly whispers. 

MARK MY HIDE WORD

my vision opens up.

i've been in the electrocited for 

over a year and it's now. 

if the sky messes over anything

if a kick comes out of the sky

i hope it smashes your penis, 

Nebraska.

i'm finally home.

i finally have home

where i've been wading.

318 MEANS "DEATH"

i poisoned myself and gushed
lifeliquids all the livelong twilight.
only a little was saline.
my writing plugged.
i kept moving.
i brought in a green creature
and unpeeled an orange fetus.
two am by nature scavenging
in the pestilence bowls
after they've been poured over
the acned earth. i'm staring.
the room includes my arm.
the cat anchor.
the flat everything else.
the final warning.
is my face as runnelled as yours is?
let me see?
did she know that she took your thunder out?
where is your head
and are you breathing
or have you begun to
live off of the speed to create
by dumping the boosters
by flotsamming the sadness.
a surface of voice is glazing my face
making mud in my throat
bake into bricks.
love tax
friends tax
taxing situations.
i can still prevail
i can still say yes and be a comfort
because i happen to have love
people who find the mud
baked everywhere over even
minor interactions of commerce
are my people from where i'm.
my skittering
has slammed me on
pinball bumpers to beat me
into 2 million points + an extra ball
on the terminator 2 table
in the red room.
and when someone wants to know
"can the back of the room hear?"
i will walk to it and feel so tenseless.
now my brothers are several.
i slept between them,
a weird nougat surrounded by
something close enough
stereoed together.

GETTING OUT OF TIME WILL BE GOOD

he plans to beautify
the boulevard
where no skin
neither is there
a tooth or bone
an organ
in the least
instead of tass mess
friss hesit
i say yes and to that
i say no harder
a deposit
a slot arready
pass my dad
through my mind
as someone who
desperately needs
the liking of people
who don't give
any shits about him
i'm sorry
i couldn't raise you
or talk with your mom then
i somehow knew
that she was dying or dead
i just fainted away in the calendar
i don't give any shits
about anyone
sometimes but
if the sounds are right
and i feel
no suspicious pains
i can love
fastened enough
to creep you out
but my knee hurts
my back hurts
my ovary hurts
if i even know
where that is
little pinches
have been crowding me
and if i say it
they riot

WHAT'S A DISCO BALL USED FOR

deliberation.

one side does something

and you can guess the rest

if you want, but nothing changes,

spins or even falls apart,

but the changes are facial only.

in the shower it became suddenly clear,

oh yes, on hypocrites

he was correct: the majority is

a forgivable mistake.

someone like me off my track

should have known on my own.

CLOUDS OF DUCKS GUARANTEED

riding

in a car,

i'm sitting next to a dog

looking into its eyes.

in ninety minutes from now

i don't know where i'll be.

waking

to my phone

i checked my email and cried

from a deepening trough.

it rips the net of dead roots.

points a blank lit up sign.

homestead

in the trees.

between the road and the house

i figure some wall exists

the little head of this dog

gives me sight to look through.

dark grey.

other grey.

they fuse against the scruff line

that i'm barreling on.

give me a cud i can eat,

don't forgive me at all.

on monday march 18

this tea wants to make me go to sleep

i got out the ring today

and he called tonight

it's like talking to anyone else 

i've ever been in love with.

FoodMeds (DON'T SHINE FOR SWINE)

completing tasks gets me berries and greens.

i want honey everywhere except in

the place you can never put honey, stupid.

"it's disgusting" said the tv teen

being ultrasung. in the kitchen i'm mumbling

outloud in another language (the heard internist)

"only red and yellow spices allowed"

as if there's a doctorate in my pocket.

then my forehead glints in the hoodlight's

wafting citrus, carrots.  singing

"bowl of oranges" with aggressive joy

at spots to breathe in, between "worry"

and "now i got".  i'm so sorry

that i have to cover my face so often now.

holy hell, i will teach myself to think,

"i'm in a holy hell with geniuses."  

{{edited}}

YOU'RE LISTENING TO NOCTURNES

i feel nothing

moving in my belly.

my cheek slides over the strings

until they squeak in the

prolonged voice i'm trying.

if you hear anything

it is bending around

a natural blue darkness.

i want what you say to be undeniable

the product of having x'd out

weak connections angry touches.

please.  i don't know where i'm going

but down and quickly.

it's windy. tell me settle.

i'm losing my chord

fingers shaking under

force of posture.

eyes rolling back.

i don't blame you

that made it possible

for my back to break

if i hit.

it's cold.

did i forget to eat?

preparing to speak

a flammable target for darts of fire.
when i am old, i will not spray flames
on the young.  i promise to listen.

a little girl called me a boy to hurt my feelings.
i'm not a boy.  i'm not a girl.  i'm not on fire
until the air steals my saliva
and, drying, i shrink
my freckles amassing
my floating ribs scraping and crashed.

FRESHWATER DRUM

you mean for us to starve
walking and crying out,
against a bladder of milk,
"leitmotif leitmotif".
not right there with you.
tablelegs sinking into
cousinwood floors.
a cottonwood fell on me.
i watched my grandpa
hit the head of a living fish
until its earbones fell into my hand
and i join millions
in trying to feed the sea humans.
i don't want you
to hear everything in the morning
and most things all night.
when the weight swings my invention into action,
block with your face.
it is sick to describe anything to you.
i must be sick.
is this the end,
now that the first end
has faked us out
and turned me into
my own fucking saga?

MOW DOWN, GOES US

you have a good need knife

to run the room with.

speak up, person whisperer.

at the top of the cabinet

i think instinct says jump off.

cloud gathered across the street

with a century of total waking hours

in the whole thing.

it poured all over the one and another one who was trying not to let it happen.

decide to make the knife a tiny plow

no for dirt. for dirt. 

only use this on the ground.

blow out the dusty glasses.

i give this 5,000 more years.

from a dozen billion 

drowned to nothing.

it is that ashy, i wouldn't like it.

kill me in a slough at the end of the day. 

preparing to speak

it wouldn't hurt to
let the cumulous
fill your sealed skin.
in fact, accumulation
is one of my favorite thoughts.
a cruelty barn holds
innocent chickens
and baby lambs
with venom tears.
i don't wanna wear gloves anymore.

two new poem fodders for the rachdar collabo

food money

you can’t have that
i’m picking up bags of
waste product salted
i don’t put a ton of limits
on what i will buy to eat
like sometimes i buy
really too expensive fruit.
i’m buying antiques
because i want to make
blood gush in the loins
i want to stand
on a frank frazetta pile
of dead little debbie cakes
with a money­burning torch raised 

and a shirtless male poet clutching my leg.
HA HA HA HA. 

i want a hug

i want a pretty specific hug

i tantrum about it
milky hotness and honey blessings poured into my colon are the only cure
for my rabid flashplans
to eat the world and shit the world in silence 

SHAKY HANDHELD

i could really use a year of free movies

there are people in the street

making noises with their throats

like a siren or it is a siren

and either way i think it means

some rod has finally snapped

and i won't go to work tomorrow,

i'll start the work of becoming

a target for forces who want to

ride the power vaccum to the canopy.

why do i fantasize about collapse?

i don't think it is romantic, i think

it is terrifying and easy to die

inside of collapsed times.  'time of the wolf'

among others. 'the last night'.

the french revolution. other revolutions.

movies about acute bustedness

of a civilization are my school

for what it looks like

for the schemers to rise and what's easy

is i think that i would rather die.

THIS IS PISS WARM

murder sounds fun 

to the untrained dog

children write on it

with dampened chalk

because i told them

a war is on

i'm waiting for an

alien to blurt from my body

i'm watching a mouth

getting hammered by fear

i used to think about 

inventing something new 

that everyone would want to buy

remove our traces
by taking bullets back
like a hatchet

what should meeting mean

in this age

it would take hours to

cook rice in my mouth

and i'd need to be lit

i'm thinking 

how easy to starve on a farm

a revolt will fail in twenty years

nobody has to lay in the swamp

this time

i don't know that for sure

if i am in the swamp and you have a choice

don't lay next to me

a dog looks like a horse

when it runs chalked

over the blown back range

from each dormitory room

where families live

escapes a chest swelling breath

to find a swamp

i'd have to walk in a direction i don't know

LONGVIEW

an honest rock

is sitting next to some trees

after working for

a bizzare length of time

with the help of ice.

hardness is an absolute limit.

which is why the hush

as i smother my want 

to move toward you simply

for a moment of comfort

is also absolute.

grass is always dying,

i've only lived in one place

and the grass dies constantly

but my brain made a video of 

time lapsing

and my eyes are useless against it.

BREAKFAST IS AN IDIOTIC REPLACEMENT FOR THE THING I'M ACTUALLY TALKING ABOUT

when i was starting out
proceeding by trial and fail
i fanned the air
into my mouth with a spoon.
it aggravated my breakfast
and i cared a little.

eventually i cared more and said
     breakfast, easy.
     there's a river freezing tonight
     i'm leaving on it.

sense glints in low light.
it is menacing like any leader
who can make you move yourself
suddenly.

i climbed on the ice to try getting away.
it's different than walking in
liquid water or trawling through
mud strata in that i don't know how
but it works.

seeds of air wedge my teeth apart
into strings of baleen.
i eat air like air.
i'm not sure what it's doing but it works.

i slide towards the end of the river
through a corridor of invisible food
so long.