4/19/2018

pop song

i know that you've been waiting for it
boy i've been waiting too
i know you got that fever for me
but i'm nine'y eight point six, see?

don't touch my body
don't throw me down
or wrestle me around
or try to play

i'll make you feel nothing
don't touch my body
want my legs around your waist?
let me wrap my hands
around your throat
baby just a little taste

don't touch my body
boy i know you love my curves
let me give you what you deserve

4/14/2018

Maze

A maze of red sand
under red sun
ceaselessly shifting
rearranging in red wind
You are lost in the labyrinth
The Way moves like a snake
before you
behind you
The exit scatters
The dead end rolls away
while the red eye looks all directions

3/27/2018

a la carte

Bird

bloated corpse of a concrete-colored sky
ripped in half by something alive
excessively alive
a blight on empty air

Self-progression

Pain - Expression - I.
songs to live by
pillars on the old, old road
on the way forward
from the way backward
built in mineral - strong, sequentially, and slanted
by imperfect minds, now dust.
the continuous line of work of man
forms an asymptote of immortality

Creativity

urge then action then judgement.
soft segregations into
 good v bad 
 woe v rage
 proximal v distal
easy to lose the lust
small bursts of ejaculate
splatter ineffectually on plastic

Would you rather

Would you rather die in a fire or by drowning or by Disgust, literally.
Disgust.
And what would it take.
To what.
Be that disgusted.
Something worth killing me, something with the actual power, a thing I didn't have the power to stop and the weight of shame crushes my chest like a bag of cement.
Like what.
A bag of cement.
No, like what would that disgusting thing be.
Oh I dunno.
So you live.

3/13/2018

the rim of the sea
is chipped

sails furl
and float away
we tilt

beads of rain
rise from the ocean
to fall on black clouds

above/below

god yawns
yet even so
yes even he
the sun a candle
blown out

2/27/2018

nyc mornings

the mist-smog grinds down 7th
thrashing papers and bits of dreams
from the hopeless dreaming homeless.
lights shine for no one.

men drive, men honk, men growl.
their hearts are stillborn, but their fists work.
they go
to battle in boardrooms
while women seek another way.

a bird hits the glass and dies
and falls
and dies some more on touchdown.
patters of tears from a nearby fountain,
sponsored by jp morgan chase
in corporate plaza,
open to the public
dawn to dusk.
this dead bird is not public
yet here she is - or was

well anyway thank you
says the doorman.
no thank you says the doorpasserthruwoman.

each remaining separate forever,
thrown in the heap.

2/21/2018

stress test

if enough time passes
we will be forced to.
who is we
who forces
how soon is enough

breaking
plane 
line 
point 

my systems are stress
tested
my pain is
topographically
hard to measure
yet known

define the shape of a mountain
the length of a coast
the surface of fog