28 May 2006
"there's a towel on the back of the door"
butterclit
drip and
spread pulse
ova my nerves period fuck
in a trailer park
around 3 a.m.it’s hard now rock, my corpse, under
covers
spread and red tripping on a labia
some salt slipd away pinching th pink from th dark / tight as a doll, and shaved to look
younger deepr into th come peachrelease and streams
white onto
her quivering salmon belly.inhale god
and finishd
like a dead wasp 
woman, climb my fence
th neighbor’s house is too fucking close;
I can hear every shout. every phone ring… every time she cries;I smell bacon frying
and a wall of beer cans in th sun. her silohette in th bathroom window,
a moisturizing ritual (mine). see his hairy gut over th bbq
almost resting on th meat. th summer scent of heart on a grill drifts through th neighborhood ( headlights drifting through my rooms,
someone’s been stepping out )I sense lust
in her swelling detest.20 May 2006
never be done
listen orange sun lake
be th wrong map.solar our
insecurity.mud on a toe
screams – 1,000 moskitos;hair café (some day)s dry ice pink rain (in a campgroundI am supposed to be.driving th praireim supposed to be stroking her arm, but want to stroke her summer eyes.black
forest kiss-kiss seconds
over slow chambord pour. drive through th dry.th wind
ow.moon glam sex foto I’m not hardto understand,if you would just loveth what if
love.17 May 2006
13 May 2006
good alone, but
I am good alone, but
can you stay?
won’t you stay?
do you sing?
don’t you sing…
can you stay?
won’t you stay?
do you sing?
don’t you sing…
if I put you in a box lined w/ paper towels
would you sing?
would you sing?
12 May 2006
above bar level
haste ye
my busy little drunk;we were so awake last thursday
and th sunday before that; swinging
children
at dawn; ( above bar level )decided never to sleep again, but I drifted
in yr charcoal eyeshadow.maybe it's love (maybe I'm dumb)
how much heart
is in that onemuddy heart
artist fallget up and write that n’artist pournot if you didn’t
get up in th middle of th night
to write that shit.bad run of life
gambling insane for a good river,
and ending up walking
parking lots alone.th greatest blade on 100th ave
was th music
(was yr coffee hair…my eyes are scissors) talking w- my hands
something I didn’t confess
always telling myself ‘she knows’ not to replace scenery
but what do I hav left
to take on that road.05 May 2006
come back]
juicy poems
pretty talkers juniper wave
black sandlater ramblers“further on up the road,
someone’s gonna hurt you like you hurt me”justyou waitand see
