today the air felt like fall

bloody murder isnt (is not) isnt
a word to use with a child
two men in military jackets in a
symmetry of cubes, plastic tubes,

.kill the rubes.

i spend days watching a selection of themes
orange flatlines on a dime
turn up for stupid whines on your breath
the smell of wine on your breath
a twister of twine around your chest

.i was the only witness

you don’t believe me do

here’s the deal, i said on a green wooded floor
it looks like it belongs in
or was stolen from
a van go painting
van gogh

how about that, go man go
i’ll spend the summer with makeup on my brain
made up in whispers of sweet honey brown gloom




valleys: plastic and marble.
hills are metal
we roam

-the graze today is bare.

we never had to learn how to be here
we always learned how to leave.

what you want on your left and
what you need on your right. “That’s

a really good idea!” She would

teddy-bear produce goods, green sisters, march silently among you all
always at the front line, faithfully seated in a fuchsia-lit corner
of the mind.

a great swath of the same thing over and over
filaments of reality blend, bent and woven with
electricity stories

a quite fidgety, nervous starting movement
begins under the blood red stripe
even more grazing


six sides of meaning make a gazebo
the tinted reflection of its shape
pushed by the sun

  1. the lines
    gazebo lines defend  themselves
    you stand out.
  2. the wood
    nothing is made of wood anymore
    nothing important
  3. denial
    a legal way to believe in yourself
    illegal pressure and illegal summer
  4. space
    part of the gazebo is not a part at all
    how will we feel wind and see shine without empty space
  5. tables/chairs
    a demonstration for freedom
    sit on the resistors before they fly away
  6. yourself
    if nobody is around to see you cry in the gazebo
    it didn’t really happen


your pretty mouth is a flesh capped period piece
relics of an underground religious experience
pushed away by ink and flames
that’s when they killed the black of your heart
what’s it like to breathe with half a lung
near collapse, appreciated like a plane crash
where do you keep your guns asked several children
who was going to teach them after I showed them
white places in our mind and green spaces help
the anxiety of public parks
dominating democracy as I round the sidewalk to get to
the corner
a tiny slip of a line polished off as a train track
metal that grows faster than the green below it


birmingham, Al

the rusted place i used to live
had hills
and the lights on those hills
were goddam pretty-
at about 10 pm- before thighs get sore:

you parked far away, troughs
of anticipation in that walk.
the hills where I used to live

let you plan
conversations in a cup


i ate a whole city on the clouds:
meanwhile, the gongs next to you are elephants.

i would only stay for the elephants.
secondhand sounds of a half black/half chinese girl

i got bleachers. Views from where
you don’t see me. Whatever to you.

that green carpet stings like youth
like those men who are uncles at a young age

the area around your watch has a slight odor
from where your wrist has worn sweat before.

a suit is normal when it’s cold out
and perfect when it’s not.

i ate a whole city on the clouds
and took any name down with it.