it was my birthday today and
my kingdom was lit up
sheets of shaved beings collected
in my pocket

mind my manners

the lines and lights painted by the city
scroll cross on the screen of a universe
peeking in and out of
red advertisments
always red

a soft hum came out of the floor,
the sound of it was m├ęchant swirls both yellow and black

this is my birthday:
wooden blue chairs.

stables for people to sip on each other
(you’re a tool in three different ways)

the weird sagittarius vein
blew a little bit into me
(because of the sheets of shaved beings
collected in my pocket)

the thoughtful traveler begins again because

it feels good to be hunted.

turn it up. we’re at a party.


years and years

i made all of this in the 60s, where everything was brown

i made all of this in the 70s, the decade of orange circles

i made all of this in the 80s, spray lightning the color of plums

i made all of this in the 90s, lines of green and lines for lunch

i made all of this at the start of the millennium

years 0-10 follow their own rating system
in reverse order

now we don’t know what to say


i add ripples to things I don’t think of
a burlesque list of punched out flaps
sugar on your bowtie, Mr A

whichever you’re hooked on
i am too

it is refreshing to sit and enjoy
your colorful lazy sounds

colorfully lazy, fully lazy

i saw you staring at me [we saw you staring at us]
and we liked it
put me [us] on your poster

a month to make something out of
even the babe was white
a brassy gang of lilies came out of your mouth
every single time you said every single thing

they smoked in a room together, put off by
the crowd

[it was the only room with a window
that opened]


check in

check in, cause i’m a glowing burden
a disgusting bump of hardened flesh
birch balloons in masks red and wide
[brass and wind] you’ll be forced to hide.

the delicate winter can kiss my ass

it sure was tough to get a word in
an ink idea of steel blue mesh
you unraveled into my side
looked up at me and then you died

my nasty whisper got caught on her earring

i forgot what rooms it occurred in
i guarantee you the wound is fresh
blossoms of wood on us untied
we ran and shouted, cried and cried

i sat on a silver string, with pursed lips.


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