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back to what’s placid I have
a quandary what will we do
when it inevitably becomes
too hot? I’m not a chance
I’m a person this is a story about
saying goodbye. It’s just so moving
I can hardly stand it.
I’ll see you at heaven tomorrow
where Karen Carpenter is a god
where squirrels are barking.
I like to hear the story of me
it’s interesting nothing is anybody’s
fault. I can appreciate the attempt
of the creation of the idea of collar bones.
I’m a little weird about my bathroom
resembling the love of my first
burden me my life is becoming
still. birds keep landing on my hammock.
I am finally the age of my face
I’ll be responsible for waking
all the chickens. I had a dream last night
there was a woman screaming
this is why women
shouldn’t be allowed to dream.
I can’t remember that the movie is over
If I stand too close I’ll keep falling into
Owls. Tree hollows I’ll watch you
drink with your orchid mouth speak
the word session. But then you’d think
I might use my thumb then keep Examining
your spine. Pressing shapes into my skin
to stand like shadows. I’d like in our movie
for you to lay me down I want you to explain
it to me avoiding politics. There’s magic in
my palm I will heal you in threes. I’ll watch
your movie of you a heavy lift about linear
time and four showers a day. Liable to argue
about rushing. Dizzy in the heat I look like
the deer. Wings dripping wax too close to
the sun keeper of my breath start the movie
again. The worst party in the world was not
your double standard childhood fantasy.
Teach me how to park O Transferor of pain.
The witness an intolerably beautiful ball of
string to be carried through the labyrinth. Go
make some popcorn I’m obsessed with reality.
Don’t say throat or choke around me
when I’m half asleep
Loneliness sucking
I would marry you naked
on the beach in San Francisco
My married friends are miserable
Crack our teeth on the city
Gunpowder bruise easily
Granting indignation
Dirty dreams lonely
Completely filled up
Create routine sense it all
look at me it doesn’t matter
Enraged at the inscriptions
in his pocket
Make me an angel
Make me a stairway
Make me a guitarist’s hands
Bad posture
Make me angry
You’re rearing your horns
At the end of three days I am a wreck
Don’t look at me like that
Laying high in the cemetery
Give me grace
Bend your fingers
Place fire in my eye
You see I am a child
I make you better
