the sea and the sand

stout meaning
thick
around the middle
of the road where we
first moved they were
all dirt, I remember
when they brought in
the asphalt, oil-stink
smooth under banana
seat handlebars
kid-footed pedals
in between.
"was burned
to make way
for a train
for a train
for a train"

5 points later

You found me
new home, new cast on
the door, new
manner of waving
my hand new cozy
means of breaking up
rust thumb through
condensing stains
all easily
forgotten.
This won't make
much sense
tomorrow, until
tomorrow, either.
She asks, please
come in
my badge please
find my newly
forgotten tree.

all morning they came, amateurs with broken arms and smooth skin. mostly quiet.
still waking. limbs chewing gum. big lips on a small orifice wondering how
many mouths led to that one.

when you get off the hobby horses, when you drive off the wildebeests, it’ll just be you in
your bed. afraid, you’ll say "I know". a feigned collapse when the loss of rigidity is
always waiting.

what have you ever told me. what have you ever said to me heading home. serval cat,
I like your ears. midnight, I like your shower. egypt, open your window issue.
dustbowl, you’re drunk. muffin, let’s kiss.

the key requirement of Title V, Prediction IV: we read it in a book when we were
seventeen. cross-sectioned. smile of a lamb.

the alter. the long toe. the lemonade we drank on the roof.

the main requirement comes to collect the late afternoon sweat, making a list of everyone
you want so you can tell them. some drama without the antihistamine.

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