wordgame, manifesto

i y a rd,
i thn u ae spr dpr a!

the missing parts, in order:
f o u c n e a t h s e y o r u e u e s m r t

p.s. be the unifier.



pigeons (II) prose poem

i’ve covered you in the way you cover a saucepan locked in poverty. the ones that always have tomato sauce or something like it stuck to the pan. You say it will just cook into whatever you put there next and make it taste that much better. Nothing tastes like poverty not even the metal from a belt buckle not even the oatmeal someone always brings home. the elite people around us always stare at us like we funny but they only stare at us when we go over by them.

what are the natural resources of this place for the pigeons, the infrastructure of time is not even enough for these pigeons. a million dollars, a million educations…nope not good enough. for the pigeons, please. please the pigeons.

pigeons, please

pigeons (I)

booboo has brown on his back
winter’s white

oppress yourselves, pigeons!

sit on my step, sit on my porch, raised 3
floors up
raised like the opposite of wages

you pigeons, you moral desires
begin again, perched or not
sleep with the foot up

like my foot is up

meme les pigeons vont au paradis
“even pigeons go to heaven”
experience the heat of paradise

the music of grass
the heaven of your nightly coop



tsunami of dust
pale starch and power powder
then the green rush

water, said in the british way.
the separated particles: the quiet rhythms of humanity
brought together by the cold majority

the concentration of dust on my pants

reach out one by one
scream out one and done
typhoid mary might visit you tonight

the poorest particles are the solid’s
the decrease in life by stillness
stillness kills

and our happy medium, here we are
put it in your bag then put
your bag in a bag

bag, hands, table, check
now leave.



your paint was pressed into me
what is 8-bit
asked someone in a cloak
you’re too young to know
i said you’re too young to know
and I’m too old to still remember

the rumor is the cushion is impregnable
striking and green
grins for the slap i was going to gift you

underneath the rooftops and the cherry sky
whispers a couple as young as you and i
sugar messes from their heart
a pause in wealth, a dip in art
i took a caravan
more like a carriage

to the kingdom of creeps.

that’s where I went to see the creeps.


strip of paper
irrevocable whip of platinum
he took her into the bloody night after saying

“you sure have a pretty mouth.

i’ve always wanted to bag one looks like you”

even through it all
all of september
wrists the color of a bruise rainbow with a pot of pain
she only remembers that he called her pretty.

i am

rubber weed wedged into nature’s cores
i am
simple kiss of the sharp angles of floral mercury
a spoon for you
goddesses in the purple upper pores of earth
heavy as wine
Stomach what you can care about
and speak for yourself
I break through as a stringy and faintly wet dermis
yellow like pleasure, hunger, and pain.

i am

maple breath and whiskey taste
gone into town to see the beards
the new look, sponsored by the moon.
it slams, just like you used to
those beards looked good next to starshine
smart tricks to get you back on my side
the smell of watermelon skin
kinky feet and blushing members
of your lesser bodies
the wish for returning is real
the mountains
those are real
i am.