references

for how many
alternian solar sweeps

will i be here

this sunday is dedicated to

comics

and coffee

and dreaming of

a new zealand summer

as the native wind bites my cheeks

you can spend
the vast majority of your time
translating the unspeakable
trying to fit those pearly whites
around a mouthful of broken syllables
until your gums get all torn up

at the end of the world i'd just
absolutely love to lick it clean
and let your smoking gun maw
scream bang bang bang inside me

I wanted to stay a little bit longer but you made me leave, why?

all the fruits in the grocery store

want to fuck 

the melon, for instance 

with my hands propping it

against my stomach 

it hates me 

no, i flatter myself

this melon doesn’t give a shit about me 

or what i want from it

i got a shrine for it and all 

i got it propped up 

against my stomach  

my mind is going through an

industrial revolution

CONSUME CONSUME THOUGHTS

and

throw them away as quickly as

humanly possible

except no now

an enlightenment!

mix the two together sociology appears

and metacognition and what emerges

an hour of analysis for one small

tiny chuckle

The Famine

when the famine comes and feral orphans
slouch a hoarfrost wasteland
digging for small rancid onions
which they eat uncooked on the spot
or steal from one another shrieks
in what bestial pidgins remain
of the mother languages
huddling distended bellies around
the bonfires they've made
of the books and manuscripts now
as illegible as the civilization
they once illuminated,

you'll be glad you opted
for the kindle
with the extended battery life

exercising demons, pt. 2-- the patron saint of Route 5B

Nettie and her cataracts
ride the bus all day

she wraps herself in
blankets, weaves necklaces out
of broken bottles smashed and
then forgotten, clutches like a security
blanket the pen left behind on the bus
because a businessman was late
for a meeting--
Nettie finds lost things

she does not have a home, so
she makes homes for herself
in the things that she
finds:

just last week there was a bird clasped
so fragile, fragile as Nettie’s own
papery hands, to the pavement
its little eyelids frozen shut
Nettie untied knots in her throat
as she discovered that even
the swallows have eyelashes

Nettie keeps it now in her pocket
and makes wishes on each eyelash
she holds in her coat everything and
everyone that needs finding

all saints day

You can have friends on the other side of death
Said the man in a white robe.
I wrote my grandmother's name on a piece of paper.
In my long, lovely handwriting
'Lois Bibeau';

put her in my pocket.

I hope the man in the white robe was telling the truth.
A friend is hard to find.

limbo

my head is centered

between the two little men on my shoulders

both of them demons,

whispering

love

hate

love

hate

love

hate