latin bonus est

in your fist
the crumpled can. when i was
home i could never
escape the hum of intangible
wires it was my sister's
bedspread there is
nothing left of me
here a porcelain doll, rectangle
of glass i was
forgotten on checkered
linoleum i
was the pushpinned
poster the battle
before the gate clutched
in the rain a knife
in hand a rivulet down
the forearm you see
the uninviting home from
uninviting rain i
will say it
baldly i sat
stalking in
the rain a black
knife held killstrike
in my
hand i rode
the bus i thought
how fucking beautiful
if it must be your
memory it must be all that for
us all

I fell asleep last night under the big white broom mustache of an old man driving through the intersection of church and market. gravity unchaperoned on those milky bristles, we went around seeing things I’d like to tell you about, but the old man deserves his privacy.

here,

this is where my voice cracks with emotion.

and here,

much later,

is the next morning.

he waters his lawn, although he never notices the lawn. he tilts his propaganda up towards the horizon, which looks all the more infinite at my size. a new creation. or the morning I woke up in the smokey mountains not knowing how to say it, with no one to say it to.

and here,

here comes belief. the ice cream man. the boys and girls.

"only a few days before that, couple of days before at the most, really, I'd been reading in my new testatment. my little girl gave it to me. I've got it right now in my kit." The colonel half rose, sat back down. "but I'll spare you. the point is -- aha! yes! the bastard has a point and isn't too damn drunk to bring it home -- this is the point, will." nobody else ever called him will. "st. paul says there is one god, he confirms that, but he says, 'there is one god, and many administrations.' I understand that to mean you can wander out of one universe and into another just by pointing your feet and forward march. I mean you can come to a land where the fate of human beings is completely different from what you understood it to be. and this utterly different universe is administered through the earth itself. up through the dirt, goddam it."

from tree of smoke by denis johnson

delicately slightly gently

it deserves undue attention.
i see the way it works.
i'll spend an hour tomorrow
just talk talk talking.
to an unending impossible wave.
let's all just hold it together.
please never ask me to close my fist.
i wish it could keep getting longer.
but it fails.
i failed gray.
i failed in, and by, my shoes.
i failed because i am morose.
i failed in a critically unlikely grandiosity.
in the garden i appreciate and circu-ambulate the leaves.
if i could touch you with silver.
if i could deliver the sliver of hands.
to me you will never be an it.
do you hear me?
fa, and fa alike.

klunk and headed / drudge

what cuts and cuts
you open.
i'd give it spaces
and you'd give it two.
i want another way.
i want to stop walking like
the world is self-tied
shoes.
in a not so distant future
my parents are dead and i am
the parent, next.
click
clack.
oh you stupid
fool. i know
this is how we talk. i know
this is the slick
grey guts.
how do you
do you
find me.

in a once long while

i am black eyed mis
forgiven ice
against glass oh
god. how far
and narrow
the spit. and what
you'd ask
of me. circular
virginal
period. break me and
hold me back.

TXT ISLAND

fly your butterfly

"A Monarch Butterfly which has died is trimmed for flight and flown as a walkalong glider. The butterfly was found with its wings in the folded position. The butterfly is put in a humid chamber to loosen up the muscles. Once unfolded, the butterfly wings are dried in a mold and fingernail polish is applied to the fuselage to add weight and strengthen the wings. The butterfly is then flown as a walkalong glider."



http://www.instructables.com/id/Monarch-Butterfly-Walkalong-Glider/

i am and i am

I am a cadillac and I am blind.

I am a dog and I am free.

I am an Arab and I am Lawrence.

I am a sock and I am thoughtful.

I am a bleach and I am forgiven.

I am a whale and I am sorrowful.

I am a claw-hammer and I am whole.

I am a bludgeon and I am directed.

I am a seed and I am growing.

I am a think-piece and I am grown.

I am a road-trip and I am my father.

I am an ascendant and I am flown.

[expanding]

drink it, goddammit

into the unknown

go blow

What caps the great well.
The hands are bound and
The little boy cannot hold it.
What does it mean?
The clouds bumble by
And the birds sing obliviousness.
The boy grows up into glass,
Joins his place in the case.
Shouldered beside the others.

admitted

one more before
the expiry there is
an uncountable
badness i jam my
hands into
pockets this world
is an ice cube beautiful
and cold no one
has ever told me
why perhaps only
because it doesn't i feel
affinity with sinking
lights a long time
ago i carried
knives i was sorry
for the both
of us the times i woke
up and couldn't
remember or the times
i did and it didn't
make sense to either
of us at
all.

upside down to clean it

i am trying to expire
desire a clean black
expanse confronts
me daily i
spilled orange
juice in it an honest
enough mistake
when you fist walked
home when you told her
nothing in fact was
wrong you are
the lights above the city you are
the left foot in front of
the next.

something off the brain

Somnolent wreck.
Flesh through the sweater.
The sexual complaints of abu anabi.
Could someone tell me why.
A truncated ring tone.
Who are you sleeping with now.
And then it all descends to ali.
A mix of brick and paint made to look as if brick.
Glottal. Glottal. Stop.

in the bag

kittens inspired by kittens

Forget the cities.
They never taught you
how to eat blueberries.
Walk over
the black hood face
down; instead kiss
the sidewalk a kiss
for your killer. I thank
you honestly,
truly,
from the still low empty,
mute gut emptied.
God that it would only be
what I squeezed into
my fist. My inky super
fist.

high praise

I am unmoved
unmanned
unhanded, hand
over hand to the top
of the ropes. From here
I can see almost
to the brink Four
counties Sissel
and the beanstalk
Hand over
hemoglobin Lovingly
scratched to the blank
bags of being Mother
embossment monogrammed
items unlikely to
be accepted upon intent
or acceptance
of return.

la la la la la la la la

You're up there
Took the stairs
To the stars all alone
You left all the lights burning
But nobody's home
I believe they deceived your tuneful heart too long
Now they sing along

--from Help Me by Alkaline Trio

small pome

blur and then blush and then
an ode to the cleaner, his long-handled
stick. stickiness. i stick to you
like glue. like the pungent wipe of disgrace
that would not leave my hand after eating. once
i took this same plane as the return
from adultery. i wondered what i would
tell you. that's not true. i knew
exactly the words i would employ, with what
hatchery and hatchetery i would bloodily
birth it, serve it
to you ugly and born
on a plate.
43 minutes.
we accelerate from space,
emptiness solid to something slightly
less so, a mist, half
tasted flavor, an old ring, or the cobble
crack cinder heel hair breast red
chest and tortured. ground.
i would like to call this love.
i would like it
very much.