Silo

i've kicked so many parties
just knowing who who I am might be.
things I learn
that I let go of maybe
are not in compliment with what I think I can.
I think I can and am being
owned, groaning against the
grainy suburban slate at sunset. and
if you are still under there, I can write for you.
we are all dissent, I stand
somewhere between protections.
I perceive my pain to be sordid. that of others,
becomes the marker. how did I
create this, slyly, structured by all my attemptings.
I do think I disagree with the ground,
neither can know how to own it, even what
we use is less ours afterward.
there must be a preliminary consideration:
our internalizations need to be known
for their suspension. Say it, situational existence.
any passing thing plodding comes
out of me-- I need to know there's
a reason you're here. I get
trapped up in the flexibility of some and
I can only fly with certain birds.
and in times of realizations like these, I search
through heroes and the helpless, seek out if I am
solely the course to seeing a conflict. of course not.
but there is a certain belief
about balances; they'll always
be, there's a mystery to them, like
need, like law like innocence

slipword

the thunder drum done
arms of the beat were sure
raised in place of
my friends like the cells of
the brightly colored weeds
of opportunism.

these people, around me just
a city in reversed view

it happened.
some days, some places may seem
the same so, so is
your fat drink and so
even the earth reacts.

it doesn't mean if it's wilting
it is wrong though i

slept next to the
plastic window, a gift, and the
water came in against me.
in it's best advice it would whisper,
not to let me look too far. these
are the things who know what
i need. i mean

sometimes, let it hold me.
everybody who made jokes
made good ones. but
there are somebodys still
asleep against me. so,
some of it can't escape
being beautiful. and i keep
questioning what is fate What

is outside
of circumstance?

Intention.

thee
thing. flush your drink
here or with a
people chaser. to me it
only raises the proof
of letting everything Else
choose, and i deny

you can
saturate my inbox
with the flaking off familiar,
your face says almost
everything about you any way.

honey honey honey i wish you'd
seehearsense this with me, happy
to seek your own on it but yes
i did fall off the stage so
i'm moving, with these
cut up feet breathing
the ground

they are young
they are blood monsters they are gentle
they are young, and they know it
they are drawing all the whiled peace out they
are bleeding, they are fucking, they are cumming.

they are making all the time stop still they are
knowing. they were once extinct
they are turning.
they foam at the mouth, spit up,
as clean as a baby's

they are climbing. they are on
parade they are leaving.
they are climbing
out of windows, they smell of the season,
windows of houses of
the textbook bricks they learned about,
they are climbing they
are still alive.

there is some vicious potential
in our laughter
it's all we do that we can.
let threat expose it, our throats be
sucking pulse, gnashing out a
fertility and every body
can; every time
our eyes do something new.
who taught us? do we turn
our heads up, open
as if sugar water rain
drips down in? use: with
no figured authority. forget
and in fact, we can't do
without revealing ourselves
to something wise.
we might be aliens, but we don't care
we're pregnant with something
beside reverence. we stepped up,
so every funny thing ever just
happened: and when
we laugh, we are our own kings

coming outs

we went wet
coming outs of inside itself
such a taste is
reserved for the celebratory..
..satisfied only with
the little dangersalt in it.
nothing is ever
separate for long, though
it is our play trying.
though it is a flurry full
of greasy glitter, shards of
mirror all mouth foggy, sharp.
what we say is- immediate and oh
nothing is not round about it-
rhythm i don't care this
is the way i'm baptised:
possessed, occupied
in a dance of derivatives

bleach

atlantic unibowl-there are hills
and valleys
in the water. it makes me wish
we were windborn, more free
but still it says no. we need this,
to be restrained.
it's a slave to itself too,
all the unforgotten
fluencies of water,
so xxl, high barbed, no audition.
competing without risk, these won't
try or want to corale you into
tolerating collaborations.
it lets bleach exist. lets us
put our stock in, bells
and whistles, and it giggles.
there are no windmills. only glaciers
only the curve of the earth
and the silvered pull at our distinctions.
we can keep it up, this modesty,
but it's not fenced in or
frosted with anything. eventually
we may see it an honor to be
chosen to drown in it. accept
you would be there be
taken care of, happy looking up
above your own fight rising,
so say thank you.

pep

from which
went on and on.
from which we all
came to meet,
there's no reason to be full
of such forgiveness
anymore. not if it
doesn't work that way- and
thanks to me, her-
she knows all about you too
and that's why she is not
standing; some things can't live after
looking at what they are.
some can. honestly, truth
doesn't strive. it won't
meet you half way; i
might. but i might be
becoming it by looking: now
i never really sleep, just think
gold on a safe approval. so
what if i know. Why shouldn't
i have these beautiful thoughts?
all i have to do is be-
my country my people
must survive me.
and on and on,

pastel

I think there's always been a memory/moment
or vision of me, sound, as cultured as cats,
two weeks off my mind. Hair huge
as the beehive branches and deep red
ribbon run throughout.
My eyes were like fangs themselves.
I never needed to even open my mouth. Sky was
as blue as a daisy. Invention, evil like ivory
arms, slight as an all night shiver just waking from.
In our minds, this was somehow the way we made
me. Colors were the most important thing
about you. And all I am is what is seen, so,
you couldn't come any closer. My skirt was
long, and hung on as the kind of question a riddle
could be made from. In bed, and while waking,
happy still now to be alone. but You became a page
in the planner I'd need someday- My life. it feels
far from me. I slipped off-- we went once together-
a soft voice from head to head "give back
my goosebumps, my very supposed baby.
you are big as definition, you and you will
be there
in all these, existing dreams of mine. pastel