I don’t know maybe I thought I was turning into him. into a dream of youth. I don’t remember having one. I’m going to ask god to give me back my childhood. I don’t remember having one.
Lately, flossing in the sink or tweezing on the toilet
in my dreams i sleep under branches with pale moonlight
I am a fan of your soul. I would pay to see your soul table shower.
i wrench the bone from my mouth for three minutes before it flutter into a raven
i put u in back of my shoulders / where u can see me only / where i can only imagine the shape
I want to love something so powerful / it requires a symbol / teens drinking sunny d / at the ancient ruins / you only give up longing / to more longing / if you want roses all summer / you have to cut them back
THE 52-HERTZ WHALE whistles to no one in particular. This means there is no difference between him crying or him asking for help.
What eyes / have I been given that I scavenge charnel ground— / at home among the rifling wake, impenitent, unshriven— / for tatters I might piece into a self-consoling song?
COMPLEX DESIRE / like fucking the enemy in a basement in bed-stuy under a crooked photo of kathy acker
Miss Piggy uses her whole body as a weapon when she has to. / What did I ever do? / Peonies look like paintings but smell like fucking funerals.
I am messy, painful, redundant. Just so you know / from the start. I have watched myself tidy / my things inexplicably before walking into the night.
Spectacular chaos. Timeless / tumored chaos for the sake / of nothing. I crown the day / and swallow the lake I / was born in.
Me missing teeth, you with dog tags on, / a thing to be proud of as a child / is proud of war and how the father / could work in an office afterward.
The tale of rendered object / as broken & saturated edifice. / It is possible to be hysterically / & historically blind.
insomnia due to infidelity with no lost sexual interest
you, wild, and / impossible to housebreak. like a puppy / pissing on my new shag rug.
The not-church is my bedroom & my soft-stained sink. The not-church is everything you, boy, think you know. I’ve seen your books. I’ve seen your pen.
We never fucked after we stopped being in love.
who points to the space underneath his knees and says I usually like to cry in here
Missing someone real good feels like beckoning a dog to come on over for a pet
Crooked tongue, chipped teeth but so Pisces rising, Sagittarius sun: What a nice enough girl with ugly parts.
I lied in my last confession, I have dishonoured my mother and father, um – I have um – hurt people that I care about.
I can’t knock fucking as a concept when he wheedles, can a true catholic
The morning you left me You left me a hundred years before On a dock
I’ve been thinking quite a bit about the ways I might hurt you.
Unfortunately, as a child initiated / through violence. Unfortunately, / as a child initiated. Unfortunately / as a child, I yawned myself open.
The first thing we admit to ourselves as human beings is that we have no idea how the world is going to end.
bite the apple and drink the sweet water see your body as it is taken from you
where my grandmother Is buried. This machine is making sure
Shove notes in your head till they bust out where your eyes supposed to shine.
DAY ONE: I followed an ant back to his nest in the Chihuahuan Desert, a little juniper seed in his mouth.
My sail’s facing the smelly blue sky, something so alluring, between trash, college students and a giant mass of air pollution.
You tell me all the good leaked out of you a long time ago. So I shouldn’t expect much.
We were ambitious, tore golden tickets, couldn’t stand Dad nesting in bed, how our time disappeared in the night.
The radiator rattles like a host of sparrows on a dead limb. I have forgotten, again, the bread.
while a group of tourists take photographs of him, soldering them to words. their intentions scorch
A manicure is an act of self-care. Cut the cuticles, buff the nails.
Were fused then jumped by a frequency Multiplied along a wire That extends from the wrist of a fiery deity
You are just trying to be honest. You ask for directions through the slow orange light. A real touch dilates over you, and the playlist hides in the gauzy stretch you haven’t found.
Beds are strange places: havens, homes to dead skin, I spend so much time with mine but don’t know it at all.
For my sixth birthday I got a Mulan backpack, Mulan lunchbox, Mulan PJs, Mulan Halloween costume, and three Mulan dolls, each in different outfits, and with varying lengths of black hair.
I've only known you since the pause carrying two white mans' names An X through what is (will be)
are you goth if you have black fingernails do you ask how to shoot coins into the drum soak to get off the prints and click click c/lick them clean
when the night rubbed against the night as cold hands rub against cold hands
I killed it? You shrugged and I haven’t seen you since.
Leave the light on & house the wounds I call it a cliff
In a subterranean Duane Reade, I gathered every ointment.
the fact that it takes so much of the part of the day before my alarm goes off and the rest of the day after i get up to be in the world
if i wear Larry David on my legs when we're not together can i still be free?
In elementary school, teachers clip Queen-Anne’s lace, place it in a bowl of dyed-red water.
They bend over to smell every mouth, determining causes of death: black plague, weakened heart
what do i call it when you get us beers and assure me that everything's fine and we never talk about it ever again?
driving in cars feels like a new body, new dimension to fuck up.
Nietszche. N-I-E-T-Z-S-C-H-E written a hundred times. I said it wrong. Cha! Cha! Cha!
all the pillows have fallen i keep playing a song till it enters my blood because there is no space
With the fake crack of the fake gun a silence falls over the county.
little boy drags his belly across the yellow grass, squeaks it like a violin. arms out, pretends he is a ship or airplane
Where are you in my delusions? With any luck, I narrate you into diver cobbler or blacksmith, a village treasure. Behold—offstage, the forest crone spinning blind for no one.
silence come across saturdays sigh again they called you in to excuse making excuses
I will split something unseen, and this invisible will transform my world in an instant.
KISS ME NOW, YOU SPHINX. KISS ME NOW, MR. WONDERFUL. KISS ME NOW, KISSING TREE. KISS ME NOW, KISSING BOOTH GIRL.
so open a sky so full just him and he is holding my hand and I am when the clouds part who
and you told me you hated my cigarettes but missed me very much and I tried to say the same thing back but couldn’t stop coughing.
Republican Presidential Debate, August 6, 2015, Cleveland, Ohio Republican Presidential Debate, September 16, 2015, Simi Valley, California
Angry girls, say all our neck-bearded uncles: assholes, we say of them ‘Bout them teeth, say our mommies and their endless Tampax-lilted Marlboros
My crooked teeth are weary of their sockets. They’re falling out in mounds as if my mouth
Cut the meat / to release its ghosts / Trade yourself / for a girl / who thinks meat is making / a comeback. In / fifth grade my teacher called me / a chink in the armor /
An assault on the stationary floor. The gathering middle. Pray the field clean. Ceramic salsify lies in light. Velvet falcon buttoned in pearls. To your mouth.
I don’t why she did this, says my mother on the phone, she must have...I don’t know..., and I know by now to wait.
Do you remember eating Scottish oysters in Kew Gardens, the bridge overhead? It was Valentine’s Day, light shifted through the Victorian greenhouse.
Suppose he came to know me as he wrote in Sharpie on my belly: whore, or heroine
The name is called out here on camera.
i cry because snakes don’t deserve to get shot for just being snakes i can swim with them, it’s okay, just put me in that spot
of her serial geography— her vertiginous hair all flames on a dark sun, remains maroon with vertigo, washed ashore
let’s lay hands on her said the lord. let’s lay hands on her said the soror. let’s lay hands on her said the black man.
runs down my leg Untested as a house plant Tempering
Sweet orange almond crumbs stuck to my sweater front as I wobbled into the dining room—having eaten all the leftover naan, flat-out in a stupor on the couch.
to burning—if i light the sari on the clothesline—if there are many saris hung hem to hem—if they pass the flame like an infant : hem to hem—
on second thought i tried something that was not. i brought my camera thinking i would take beautiful pictures, it was a place to take beautiful pictures. i felt a need to try and capture these.
Last night there was a fountain in the park, and my friend said it’s less a fountain than a body covered in water.
I just want him to notice me. / And then return to life.
He shows us his backyard, roosters, limes, a coconut tree, dasheen, aloe like spiked tails. One, I can sell for $50, he says. We ride in a blue-painted boat to the island of birds.
I love you, suet couch. I love you, plastic rug I slathered in an extra-virgin sauce.
Listen. I’ll be better. I stuffed it into every pocket of your clothing I could find.
I’ll be here / slipping on the peels / laughing / slipping on the peels / laughing / practicing for your arrival / a word about what you are afraid of / maybe / meet me here / I am so lonely
Additionally, the range of tragic / emotions oneness can offer / is best experienced without warning. The surprise / of the onset is key / to experiencing the full bludgeon to the heart / oneness can deliver.
& would those eggs hatch inside warm-wet me like watermelon seeds? / & would mosquitos itch at my insides like free?
LOST: LAVENDER AT THE KITCHEN SINK. STEMS FRAYED. / Everyone breaks off my number and keeps it in their pocket
I don’t know how they made sense of that swell, how they survived long enough to make me, and am sort of at war with sentimentality, generally
Lessen, voluptuous feathers. Fold up fanwise, hide behind your sisters, single
i want to meet these aliens. it’s strange that i haven’t. have they landed? i hear a balding man call this tiny woman an alien.
in good dreams I’m no longer vulpes vulpes at the table.
for me & them & us ZOE KINGSLEY I & it can happen in the house & it can happen in
gators are trained to follow the whirring / fan so customers can snap / photo heat and haze / —as it dances the surface / like so many motes
My cunts dropped in the ground. What mirror, right, in the ground. I want to see a mad choreography in the cell, I sweat out buildings.
The circus animals, dizzy / from the fumes of a million bucks’ / worth of fireworks, reel.
Hello neighbour. The cat's face comes quick / to the crack. Gord is a quiet prisoner. / I can't choke this wane and seep. / I sink all my electronics in bathwater.
Maybe if I could hold the sardine’s spine / gently, without breaking it, / it would become a pearl necklace clasped / to my throat as I speak the answer.
you buy me 3 Subway cookies / and while sucking the butter out of them / I wonder how I can trust a culture / that manufactures idols?