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4/9-2

when the option presents itself i will prefer to be perfectly tender. alone i am ever stoking my own flame you might even say in the quiet it is all i am capable of thinking on. is it normal if i tell you here and now are my weaknesses all sitting still in my upturned palms, i hold them calmly where they are so you may pluck them, rose-colored petals, they are succulent and intended for your own devouring. a wreath of underbrush, lit white candles seizing in its grasp to grace the crown of my head; who am i if not in this moment a crown prince? perhaps if a snarl coming up from out a rain gutter. please if you allow me to be unassuming and gregarious in my shallow water glassy bottom pacings. a timestamp for my coming, a timestamp for my going. i have somewhere inside my ribcage many more ways of saying no now.

#poetry #Experimental Poetry #poets on tumblr

5/9

fickle, today the flies are continuing to swarm my arms and legs no matter i am in the kitchen, i am in the bed, i am on the porch. which begs the question of am i busy stepping off graceless as ever this mortal coil and they are aware, or has the flower-bedecked HAIL SATAN i fly in my doorway, tattered remnant of a protest against the vitriol of an unwelcomed street evangelist, finally paid itself off if only to channel into me Beelzebub himself? that book and half a life ago. there is little doubt of my true filth. there is little doubt i am a worthy soul. the dark clouds they are rolling on in.

#poetry #Experimental Poetry #poets on tumblr

2/8

1. to examine my body as it exists in a series of circles head to ten small Ohs for toes.

2. somewhere inside me i believe there to be an underground lake. at least, the cartographer and the geologist both inform me of such. the underground lake i believe to be what feeds into my watery heart; it is here after all where i am almost always drowning.

3. no are you aren’t you but in the place for the are or aren’t instead consistent is. to for a change prod at the is with a stick wrenched from the muck of a drainage ditch, to pull apart the is and take a long hard look at the sweetness of its still moving guts. is this not the sweetness i have wanted?

12/8

when the sounds of a voice you know for an instant is capable of drowning out the voices of ten others, unknowns, who speak louder.

when there has been plenty of time i was consciously working to erase myself, pink rubber Indian burns notwithstanding, chalk marks taken off the sidewalk in one good clap of thunder and then the downpour, no more evidence of the body and the body it still somehow remains erect, walks upright.

when what could ever serve as a reminder, my eyes wide and bloodshot, my hands, elbows all three pink and wet as hamburger in its shiny supermarket cellophane, less than a fourth of the ruins excavated thus far; do i now who have come so close to great loss have at this point all the more at the present for the losing?

#alt lit #poetry #poets on tumblr

14/8

black jingle shells shining with their flecks of silver attached to my hands. they do not make noise, though it is safe to say i lack the poise for that.

as i sit, head a’spin, finding myself capable of loving you and also loving him.

#alt lit #poetry #poets on tumblr

17/8

one of these days soon i will just get up you’ll see there’ll be great ease in my movements those with eyes for seeing will even some of them label me liquid. one of these days soon i will just get up and when i go to put my clothes on i won’t any more safety pin to the right side of my chest the nametag you gave me oh so long ago now its fine white print against its happy blue backdrop a paragraph on it all the words i allowed you to hurt me with you’ll see yes you’ll see and you will recognize me then by my upright walk.

17/8

keeping your hands where i can see them, and then narrative remains short in its retelling.

to myself alone the deep breath and the inner working, the thin layer of sweat across my skin.

we are pinpointing a moment in which the world ceases and after that begins again.

#alt lit #poetry #poets on tumblr

18/8-3

when i am still using the language of formality with due time’s familiarity, i have weak knees. for all i know they are cotton balls and masking tape, adhering to cardboard paper towel roll legs, toilet paper roll ankles, cardboard filler parallelogram feet, seafoam green packing peanut toes.

if it is between my sense of sight and the loss of my voice i will look into your eyes, listen to your low and lilting voice, forgiving myself that though i still can write i will not in this moment speak aloud even in whispers.

#alt lit #poetry #poetsontumblr

5/8

a skidmark imprinted to the blacktop in rubber afterthought, aftershock, or watch me from the shadows i will be dreaming of you quietly in the daytime. you come and you go in clouds of blue smoke i am grasping at as it dissipates. my knuckles are white and my small fingers are the angry red of concerted concentration. yes, i would say to you, my heart it is in this matter. can i love you and remain free?

#poetry

9/3

to slip as readily into another body as you slip into me. it is not without its effort. i am not without my effort. to be so loosened and at the same time remain whole does not happen without effort.

#lit #poetry #experimental #experimentalpoetry

13/12

1. to exist in perpetuity the quieter half is to enact a balance, a compromise, a when also will someone listen i speak up and i am sounding out the vowels

2. a simple question: across the world do you too find me sometimes in the extension of yrself, do you too find me in a shadow-self that scuttles just from the corners of yr eyes

3. the comfort to be found in sitting on one’s own hands as there is a sweet softness there yes it a softness one can grown dependent upon

4. how many instances in which i say goodbye goodbye goodbye and i tell myself i mean it and well you see i do i do mean it i mean it this time i send you up the fare thee wells the higher in the expulsions of my pipe

preparation

1. to divine + integrate a lead weight; to divine, to integrate, to gain what is in this lead weight, to feel whole in it

2. to make sense of this restlessness in a concrete, constructive way; if i am restless through the hours of solitude for company and restless in the hours of company for solitude

8/2

1. the left index finger nail - the only one i fucked up while painting on the shellac i will never remove - has been ragged for two days and i want to drag it across skin until instead of a finger i am left a bloody bit of infrastructure

2. to perchance ask out the laundry list of intentions within another and to expect and understand honesty in return when always the intention is shortlived; please, the wet floor sign, right there at the entrance

3. if nobody notices yr haircut it isn’t did it happen it’s do you exist?

4. if there is no wrong way to be born assigned female and the cough that triggers a projectile vomit every time and the weird underbrush fire before before before

8/3

to be starting and stopping. to be starting and stopping. to be stopping and starting in quick rhythms of succession so that the word continuation associates with the textbook definition desperation making weekly two-pence tithes to the golden calf Stability. this could have gone more smoothly.

#lit #experimentalpoetry #poetry #experimental

2/1, or, page of wands reversed

to wake up a day after i say i will make a regimented change on the precise same side of the bed as in the hours before i declare to myself in flux and before the world i am to improve my character and my life in the enumerate, emboldened, enumerated ways i list in bombastic voice

to buoy forward, sixty miles per hour in a 35 zone, without foresight or recognition of the possible roadblocks, the DO NOT ENTER HERE FOR THERE BE LOCH NESS MONSTERS DWELLING WITHIN A VAST QUICKSAND OCEAN signs neither yellow nor orange nut instead luminous red and in time sensitive repeating pattern thus how can these cut harbinger diamond dewdrops be missed

to cut myself free of the wax wings surely to only melt as they do edge the closer; without the fear, my eyes open wide, i need not any instruments extraneous to ice pick myself up into the crosscurrent

#poetry #experimentalpoetry #experimental #lit

6/12

what is it the language a person must be using to accurately and with adequate bedside manner inform an aging mother who only wants to see her daughter safe and sound for a few evenings is it “ma’am i am so sorry to say the daughter you knew has perished she was last seen in the mirror one day six months ago before she left that is exit stage left and who you see before you is not her

#lit #poetry #Experimental Poetry

7/12

1. so many things had changed it was as though almost nothing ever really did

2. that thought, yes, that one, that one toeing the cobwebs to the right corner of the room, yes, you there, what do you say? what do you repeat quietly until someone does active listening, perhaps extracts your phrases as their own ideas? “oh, me? i say, ‘things might be easier for everyone if another soul were to fill these shoes, a more well-adjusted soul, perhaps,’ yes, that is what i say until heard.”

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