She’s so helpless and the undertone
is spooky-ooky! She’s so natural
and the assumption is heaven high
is gilded and gyrific, is, like chakras.
I mean, placement for purpose. I mean,
outward burst. She’s so blond! And
I mean BLOND. Like, a dirty dove.
How the most familiar thing becomes
the opposite of gentle when dead.
She means well when she asks you
to touch her, when she negotiates
the abyss. She only means to tell
on herself, she’s only making history.
the most painful thing i know is a mother
a shadow behind the sheet but the sheet is the surface
of a frozen over lake
the moment you first bust your own skin
being called ugly
i can barely stand the sun much less
it is not all so dark and down
it is funny too! like
how i give my whole life to the idea
of art but nothing gives back
like how no one matters and everything
silenced gets the last laugh
yea, i’m cracking the fuck up y’all
down a hill and the hill
is made of holes
The image is ruined because I learned too much. The image is cohesion.
There is the narrative of loss, and then there is the shame.
Mud on sunstone.
I cannot be here now because I did not invite me.
I cannot remember because I never went. In high school homecoming
was as foreign as money. Prom only ever a violence. Everything
a vile-ence these days. I’m over the bloodletting.
Don’t be so coy.
In high school dicks shook their blame at me like a candy.
Living is always a risk. I know this now, how I yearn for haptic, how I
throw away obscurity. I’m smarter tho. I figured it out. Water is wet
and blood still is. No one cares about coherence; we only want mud-sun.
There is only ever the filthy event.