string arrangement
"five leaves left" spins on the turntable me: god damn, i hate them, such cunts you: the world is a cunt, what are you gunna do about it, that's why Nick Drake killed himself end scene. fade to black bongos
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August 18, 2017
June 1, 2017
you could have just killed me first
when grief fills you up w/ it's nothingness you can no longer sit in a chair w/o crossing and uncrossing your legs or find yourself looking off in the distance because a memory has suddenly contorted your face you feel uncomfortable you can't help it grief is physical and now you take up too much space what private ritual what event rearranging emptiness the foyer of yr mind
June 1, 2017
there are three billboards on 95 N that read THE ZOO CHANGES YOU
you speak
& the drilling stops
you stop
& the drilling starts
no god
a pair of white pupils
eclipse the moon
curtains drawn
in the back of an suv
stop crying
or else
May 17, 2017
fuck me
bouquets upon bouquets the mind is moon shaped the monk tells us it waxes & wanes it makes sense & tomorrow we enter another phase of acceptance sometimes when someone dies in Japan their body is burned the throat bone removed from the remains and put in a box in the earth thousands of throat bones underground & all around above as temporal visitors here a principle a chorus of feet walking below this soft soil these silent throats to that which we become i wish i could do that for you but you’ll end up in a jar then you’ll end up in the garbage outside of the abortion clinic
May 17, 2017
don’t tell me to smile you’re awful
a new feeling moves through a moor in moonlight mined in a back yard garden a view inside of a house the silhouette of a man alphabetizing an archive & the smoke escapes through the window this is the moment. where wonder, happenstance of us, of a sentience that never was, of a sentience that only was, dead in jars. with no throat bones & no knowledge of ritual or moors
April 6, 2017
Rest in Peonies, Joanne
it's raining i'm listening to moon pix eating slim jims i always impress myself with my ability to reach further into moments like this one the cherry blossoms browning dying for a second spring driving down columbus blvd this image ruptures a cyst in time i suddenly remember you throwing me up against a fence telling me it was going to be okay i sit in my car for hours watching the rain on the windshield a flimsy filter of my avoidance the way the world looks soupy it makes me laugh and i'm not sure i'll miss any of this when i'm gone i'm gone out in the tumult out in the night
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