Tiava

i
eat up all the men before i clean them.
even with you in my mouth i'm a tender little
lucifer - The equivalent of mantra deposits
deep in a well of disregard. many people tripping
in the shiny grass with adam; snakes wrapped
around cemetaries bright for naked playing,
toss down from the trees. we want graveyard
births in the bed born bite to keep them
warm. now i'm an example of something
you can take care of, and i don't even feel
any differently about my self. cause hey, blood
shouldn't taste like that. this idea of
innocence, sick. i'll ask you again.
again, again, again - what happened that day?
when did i start feeling the attraction
to the green dress the castle cast off in
the matrix you're working so hard for? probly
right when you said not to eat the secret. this is
major therapy: let me wash you with
one slow decadence approaching. you won't
deny it and i'm gonna keep on laughing while i
like it toward me... somebody else feels
pretty good about it, too, and i bet you
could guess who it is

MINT

were there what were there. baked bathing
in all this -- blameless, it's a spinning, removeable city.
smart now, youth. be guilded and do not be a groove in
anybody else's world. everything done now is,
making
instant
babies. fucked so many times into the new clay.
made of the old clay. in dust we drove out such a
natural way. did they do the night?
did it triplify and give up a need for our familiar
stuff? these are thoughts that only
the train can take me away from.
our languages braid reasons for seriously everything
undiscovered to be divided. got in the face.
how capable are we of incest? when there
is no such thing as less. it really barely
matters what's been damaged so
troop, hang tight...saying it's an accident don't
mean shit. we all know god's got no desire, thanking.
saying we accept it means nothing, too. it already
finds the world well.

and the fish was good

tugging on the seam at
the thread of me. tagged with touch-
kept running back up with sweet
coffee burn before, and coffee again
afterward. when i saw you two,
aligned range, i just understood:
everything is
a matter of placement... when
you can, even comprehend the scope.
saw you run, so fragile, unconscious up to Where.
brain still doesn't know
how many full revolutions made, but we do.
it's game, all your cuts, as fair as it's ever going to be;
turning over trades we may, and it's as well,
never know for certain whether something
was real enough to be lost. may. something may
have been gained. in meeting, this is not nearly
the major predecessor to the things we can do.
you put your truce out,
saw it humbled. it is, to be being human.

one the only

oh, drunk drunk denials. gives me
a full time drive to be in your low voice, wanting.
sitting against the contrary. on this couch.
acting like i'm one the only. i can hear about
whoever i want to; i can be next to somebody, purple
shirted, feeling like a friend shows how reflective we are.
whiskey, believe me. poison my strangeness.
disconnect and lurch across this with the viscera
to fake my foot asleep on. but that's just the way
whiskey works. the way i burr back, just to feel arms
around me. as soon as you come across the thought,
it almost makes it better to admit to anyone
how we have really sick ways of turning feelings to life.
that i think i might know. come clean
break and shot up, seems to me like it's procrastinated
needing. splintered like exhaust. braced to a heart
throbbing. use your slang to move me,
make your neighborhood something even
more solid, 50th and some street and i'm still
outside. i think we might be a little, molten military
against that that we cannot fathom.
i joined in like i knew you better than you did.
is there new information here? was it
acting if i learned later that i was right?

Lapping

i can always feel baby in me. she says,
licking a stamp. i know it's there cause
it vibrates when it needs me and
i put my hand down onto my belly,
eyebrows locked, and feel it purring. it sends me
a text when it's hungry. then i know, let it take
from me what it needs. not sure why i prefer it,
no. it gets what it wants. it gets
silk, and nectar, and butter. her legs crossed
beneath her, foot in lap. it has a signature,
but no sure name yet. it has my
big feet, and it's strong, and so it is clear.
we wanted this. we are why. that man
wasn't even big enough to get inside. don't take it
the wrong way, don't take it out of
context. we laugh about that now.
it's our inside joke, me and baby. baby and me.
she glides her hand over. i got hairs on my tummy.
and it don't make me no prettier to be attacked.
i wish that baby would, baby, call mama
back. sometimes it feels like i'm
drowning out. she sits up suddenly.
don't forget to dial area code. don't forget to do
your practice. she looks for the
camera. i show baby terrorist flashcards.
i cry so it can identify who is our enemy.
and i know that we agree cause
when baby sweats it comes out of me. she
smiles into the black glass eye. do you
think that it sees me? she leans over to
take a long puff. she leans over to grab a pen.
signed,
burlap baby, bumble bee wet.
young sum of the times.

this was a song. god growing

sing this spanish lullaby,
a rock in a foreign home.
space the doubt between us,
broken roads we roam alone.
watch the past remain as we
roll through the lonely fight.
the air is a clean fortress
tonight. it almost loves you.
and when we all need a little touch,
we call out to our clearing
mothers, who kneel beside the bed
we used to make. sing for their sake.
cry for our peace and their knowing.
we can't be only god growing.
hold your wings now
when they have far to fall.
god growing inside you
and inside us all.

mind over

this world has a weird way of
drinking me up. i don't know if it's
universal or not. it's, well,
definitely not as powerful as a
trend. but, here's to- hoping you can't
hear me peeing. accepting your neck
rub offer. sharing home with
whoever, just across the floor, and, just
as honest as always, but...no more consistent.
it feels like a sense of humor. sand in your
hair. and i think i can taste something
i'm imagining. i don't know, it's

somebody else's scrapbook

a place where i was when we had
an argument once

a bottle of ketchup