Now that the Israeli has left, it falls on me to make the salad.
Ma wrings a wet world of colors
The storm passes without snow. The car waits loyally in the back lot.
I want to roll in this moment until I become its vocabulary until I smell like the bones until I am its echo…
I myself should never have been born
Just starlight and some small scribbling across vinyl.
Her brown eyes, how a fig considers itself.
If my life was the size of my arm, I would stretch it out for you.
The collective failure of ethical standards
Okay, picture this: We’re in an elevator. The elevator shuts down. It doesn’t matter where we’re going, only that we’re alone.
I imagine that undressing a color, though, would be so much like peeling a memory away from the grey and the white matter of your brain.
Try not to see your own predicament in every fucking thing.
a folksome, gruesome opera of gauze and malcontent.
the strands of your hair on the bathroom tiles aren’t sketching defeat. that’s you spitting disease in the face with another day you’ve woken up to.
Mostly he ate what was put on his plate snuck coffee grounds or dirt for a snack Once a zipper Unzipped
Every so often, they add a tattoo in honor of some long-forgotten love.
Long after midnight, we’re talking about our first time
Winter sat like a wolf on the horizon.
how does an afternoon turn on its axis?
the man is stayed bent over the canvas of my sofa. the man is me the man is him self and I bring down the whip…