blood rhymes

i have a batch of dark red thought
a pitchy blood tincture to help me rot
these are thoughts i’ve thought a lot

the stain of roots that leave a knot
in twisted wood skin my thoughts are caught
for much of my memory i’ve bled and fought

purple paints my fresh new shot
a wound that heaven’s fairies brought
i let myself drip in your pot

these are thoughts i’ve thought a lot

red milky liquid is what i’ve got
the proper owner of what had once been bought
your blood’s gonna love me-

for now or not.


i have 2 childhood friends dead from 1 drug

i always
(all at once)
brush against a fractured twilight

the rhythm of blue stairs and curtains
and walls and cushions
made it perfectly clear they were
clearly perfect


decided. married violets: withering plagues of skin.

curtain crumble.
save me and play me
you broken mist of twin memories:

2 men.
2 boys with spines and needles in them
made em feel good until it couldn’t

a partial disconnect: still connected.

your lips sweat when you walk
they look like your foreheads

i wonder what scale of color the holes that killed them 00zed out
were they green as wealth
or yellow like health
perhaps they were both at separate times
did they bleed immediately or seconds after

it’s been a cold 21 hours.

they said at separate times:
“i keep singing about how much it hurts
my son died today by his own hand”



hand burn

the elf: a stung surface
reminds you all day long with
needless introductions

a silver iron tongue
pressed on me and not
the fabric
a rush of hot orange skin-tint immediately completes my hand
dominates and turns me into a mob

the word flail comes to mind

(scratches)(1,000,000)=(my burn)

now pink, tender meat
flailing ceased

another needless introduction





ain’t nobody get scared like he get scared
nobody makes their hate whistle blow as hard as he do
the five great lakes of your body shake and flood
the gift that pops and bangs suffered through
was likely an elongated infinity
shortened each time he took a hot breath

hot gates

a logical thermopylae
tiny places for people to insert themselves like soap
in a sponge

i watched a crackhead get ready for the day

i will watch over you, crackhead
i stand on rails above rails
over rails and watch you
make your toilette
rest a galactic purple felt shopping bag over your honored skull
(black and perfectly smooth (glabrous) so overcome with
negative peels)
spark your life back into your system
i see you do it
your head covering blocks a clear and focused wind

a hidden globe is only a (desirable) side effect

it’s morning, the morning chained by your habit
i watch you in the midst of mine

you were not the only one wrapped in green:
take a bath in poison cause
crackhead sprays himself with stolen orange juice
hands, fingers, palms
elbows, teeth, jaw
the shining head that glares three floors below my own

the drug interjects “blindfold, ha!”

he stumbles
3:30, a bit early for a morning
for a crackhead

you sure clean up real nice
you look like someone famous
off you go into the second level of existence
on the normal street

your morning routine a forgotten gray



i hate seeing two suns
double moons
the infinity of stars and their twins

whoa you’re definitely the tallest sugar plum.
apparently you went to see the ballet
and when you finished, i found you

and told you you were great.

a symphony of forever tomorrows, always saying

i was the nominated one, the one with the charge
belted by sunlight and worshipped by stars
the end of symmetry and the wisdom of our homes

too loud and too particular.