Love Song Auditions

Meet me halfway because I never tried to remember what I've forgotten until now.

I could tell you I've dated psychos but I think you already figured that out groovy.

All men look like boys in the face when they cum.

I have not yet received any emails about this.

That face. Put it on.

How difficult to find you even years later.

Is this about the time I visited D.C. and didn't see you.

Butter flattened popcorn.

Fifteen of us in a small bus.

Grew up streets of residential housing.

Different addictions obliquing themselves. Uncle Tom drunk over his turkey.

If we met because we met when we meet.

Stop boring me with muscle hair and bodies. I want something sensitive to anomaly.

For a living I listen to country music and I watch sports.

Someone who knows that inner star.

I realize that when people say men they mean straight men.

Around my hometown walls were turning yellow and gray.

Each time I went to Elizabethtown for french horn lessons I traveled the turnpike and I yearned for some outside noise to comfort me.

Wrap you in mailing envelopes.

And for me that means an extra day shopping and an extra day to be so cold because I am already on the road what would you like to tell me.

This mustard seed purr.

All the things I ever wanted were sent in the mail you are a large city you understand.

From Essex

Now is the time to take the song from your throat

and unbury the bone you've tasted for years. The flesh

of bones is that which unburdens the voice, the flesh

that feeds from the unspoken words in your throat

urging you not to pocket the flowers. Plunder

the scream of shades. Take the swarm of color

from the fields until the lack of color

forms a rupture in the sky and plunder

all unheard sounds in the night. These sounds

are yours. Your mind holds the morning back.

This voice whispers each word back

to you and each stone you gather slows sound

and light. The bleached day urges you on and the throat

of the lapwing burns blakc with still no sound.


-Adam Clay

Lilies whose syrup keeps addicting us.
You in dirty diameter
and we circle hungrily
the winning blue wrinkle
realizes no no just under the surface

sturdy absence
the static washes someone in sun

Tears dry fluelike on our face fluelike because we are riding our bike
third person familiar dear eyes sparkling. She says okay, I’ll be your friend.
But she doesn’t put down her hatchet

I’m drunk and want to watch a movie with you and eat Chips Ahoy
on my bed on all my clean clothes that need folded

As though lemons
whisper snip, then blossom. Remember my friend Jim who wanted to marry you and you dated him for a few years and he was hairy

kisses through mesh we are pretending a jailbait
who distinguishes new shadows from old

You are glossy wet when sad

I say okay, okay,
ready a set of fetters.
Let’s make meaning.

Letters still trees, clink brinks, kneel on wet leaves.
An understanding ignores
all this moon’s advice, eats hot & sour soup
comes highly recommended

face noun or verb yours or mine
your legs and arms
among their roots I long to kiss
sure through you
time makes God sound like us
along sour neurons an outside silence I can taste constellations against the sky
once a chaser, always disposability. I am talking about
being in the closet here, Mary.
it’s so obvious Memory is a bitch no matter how green your eyes no matter how glittery
To me it’s an eclogue the way your mouth moves when I put my face there
to absorb your light crouch more
threshold than path
found a Polaroid of a naked black man his chafed looking penis swollen in his fist kept it tucked in one of my paperbacks of Margaret Atwood’s Cat’s Cradle

let me twin and sprout wings
or horns like shells where wind spatters
I want to bet you fucked him now fuck me your guilt makes you harder
your having been in his scrappy body makes me horny
I can recognize me even in these ski masks
that oyster smiles
I recognize that as a man I blush
an aura
precedes my relapse: the smell of patchouli,
rust, an old red wine
time snapped shut across some depths of lake. cartographies of color that only you noted
this testifies to your character:
you call toilet paper bath tissues

I name my band My Friend’s Band
if opening for A Bridge, sway. if for
Little Stallions Under Glass, pretend you drive stick.
Who snorts rare silver transparence ?
As If Any Addiction Ends

Flying Ants Smell Like Lemon Until You See Them


You bend back the trees
to reveal the river’s
weakness.

I was always a sucker for sun—

I hurt all day.
Be more than I can imagine and take when I’ve done and future it.
Well my conduit is broken. Language doesn’t flow through me like a sieve. I am more a jar and sometimes I pour myself out
Movement implies
herring. Wet. where
they land. has all the hallmarks the man with the handsomest
of bad porn
you list in the sun
of course I am tomorrow’s child
the supple bubble butt
it became a lightning rod
I’m racist and I’ve lived mostly with other whites
and I’m white and male and gay and alcoholic


one of my students when I gave her portfolio back to her
and she’d earned an A in the class but didn’t want any molasses cake
looked like she was on speed
I like the sound of violins am in therapy
I heard people in the hallway and became ashamed
think about the phrase language arts long enough it will make you bitter
is just reason for us to band like geese
I wish I could fly through cathode ray tubes
and into your pale arms
I want to be large and delicious along this series of fences
like a bucket full of ice cream
dirty dishes on my dresser
it’s my job to write postcards
because I know that people suffer
I want you to look up at me saltily
feel a muscle in my back ding it tastes gray and shifty
your root smell like a snag
turns off streetlamps when we walk by
like a first roast duckling I want to feist myself on your hairy chest I want to suck your back I want to bite you I want you to rip me a piece of me out it’s all the salt reminder you’ll have
a dam beaver nest all blown up with hummingbirds
there are terriers in my pajamas if I had pajamas
me fucking me with teeth and green and yellow arrows that are aimed at snagging you because I’m unsatisfied Why would you bring awful soda into a library. Or coffee or your bad hair cut.
I wasn’t painting. Well, maybe I was painting whelks, but other than those yellow white contusions I was not painting at all
I am waking up again and again to myself. I can never remember who I am and that’s why trinkets rather than dead birds are coming out of the kitten’s mouth
believe in signs sometimes I do

I want you to put your face into my asshole and get it wet
I feel a twinkle there for you
it’s a black asterisk and only you can dot it white
with your stuck in me juice




I am lazy
You are red
We’re ready to date




But it takes forever to be loved




I want to fuck you so hard you’ll have yellow glitter coming out of your ears and I will think that’s so sexy that I’ll fuck you harder and then green and blue and purple glitter will come pouring out of your mouth and then that’ll get me going and I’ll fuck you so hard that when we both come we’ll shit gold lame stools so large we could dry them and sit on them out on the porch when we are married and old and cute and not fucking quite so much.




about my black rubber calyx.
I’ve been beating myself with it.
I got it at the porn store because I couldn’t find any at Michael’s.
I know it’s shaped like a dildo but that’s because they’re probably not allowed
to sell rubber flowers at the porn store.





Let me into your condo.
You call me crazy.
You get me some scratch-off lottery tickets because you love me
and want to fuck me
but are afraid.
Your cap and cape are hanging on the panels of my brain.
I want to bake you a closet full of scones,
I want to bake you dry things so that we can get out the lube,
we’ll have an excuse,
and fuck.



But would it scare you, the depth of hunger I wanted to show you. I am showing you how hungry I am for you.
You are a railroad. You keep me from you. You keep me at a parallel distance. I hate the distance. You are seven hours. You are seven hours away from me and I want to hold you every night and watch you fall asleep. I want to see you relax.
I don’t want to be kept from you. I will hurt the roadways. I will trust no one. I will trust only my heart. I can’t trust my hurt parts anymore. My heart wants to hurt yours, to heal you.
We are, indeed, a series. Nothing is here resolved.



Would you?
the wet burn of my thigh

From Figures For A Darkroom Voice by Noah Eli Gordon and Joshua Marie Wilkinson

Here's the mechanical garden with its watery flowers & sparks. Here's the bull's hoof cast in something like iron, leaving footprints in the shape of broken clouds. Here's a dresser carved from bone. & here inside is its good cocaine scent asking you to punish the parts of yourself closest to the piano in construction, furthest from persistent woods in each fairytale that propels us to misrecognition. If you enter them do so with a year's worth of butcher birds to seal your steps up in the muck.

I want to thank you. You and all the rain you wore to find me.

Pulse is nothing like a houseboy
memorizing a room of purple and white flowers
who will not apologize.
I do I feel their influence.

Stadiums of Lust

The glove of your mouth importunate.
Bring yourself to the bud of your body.
The jar is half empty.
I lean obscure allergic slow stand
my pulse a grandstand standing
in me boy the moon is lean
at risk.

My furrow blisters so had
it sizzles the thermometer bent
swollen with honey
rain mitts the sand the consonance
(Is love when you eat popsicles if in bed the slim leaves of Whitman inflate)
the salt my blister so so
rub it.

Pretending Yourself a Crowd

Make up with a rainbow
stem out and cotillion-slick
having seen the swollen night
and my palm on your skin
drawing blue flowers
into your body

Of the Moon Hidden By So

That sick grin
running a personal
and your blindness gains my
side like my own up your face
a love a little girl throws
and runs under this morning
painted to match the sky

I look at the water to fire ratio and sun myself
so rangers caressed myself

Gray Not in Color But Feeling

The rasp simple
we both answer
when asked behind which we pour
affection
the one with the biggest salute
from the bin of winks

You are a cup I am a manacle
scabbing your face
the pears of your eyes threaten cringe

I want berries’
purr in our mouth
get the cliché drunk
like soap
in the mouth the good idea turns bad and foams

Lover Are You the Lamb Along Unkempt’s Leap

We called it practicing for girls when we would bluntdick one another

What I knew might put my hand in his pocket
search any clavicle naked as prom night
brilliant in the air as sails questioning my motives
stretching my hips towards my head to practice the suck have you ever thought
sadly in a blackout you made pornography
everything through hiccups
boys jog past your window thin as sunburnt
smiles
are going into your body short and frothy
down at the lip of the underground well want that smell of blood in my house, the blip
the seconds threaten

One bodybuilding magazine showed a man with his penis angled and skewing hard and strangely orange out of his posing speedo, and repression is a powerful cycle

Let me be glaring here embraced by many eyes on windows cool
pretty please pies
of wet cane and snowmelt anything
mending its miles

The Most Beautiful Are Blemished

Suppose an eyes gimlet with praise and hanging
a nice long integer on a movement of quiet
as if in sympathy for a smell trying to diffuse
in a small closed space which precludes
a cushion standing in for the leading role
green and skipping and interested and formal
quick and sour here with me ma’am

Boys With Long Torsos


and butts
not droopy
but as though
each cheek
were resting
in a cup


Wait For the Timpani to Resolve Themselves


and pick me up out of the moonstone rainstorm theory
the idea having delayed itself against the rain I see
that walking where we go it’s simply stunning
the tree where it has split your flower hasn’t took yet
it took and then finally it took all right
boy oh boy do I believe you


We Can Be Sure


we sunk having found out what embarrasses us we are in bed
and laughing like a skunk out the window in the lilacs canceling
one another like the stock market years later told you you had stock
you’d forgotten your grandmother was dead and practical if you would let her
name your trust in your body a turret a neck of crows define it
thus we size it


Like Mint Kitchenettes


was snow packed tight in your iris your brown eyes that changing their clovers shone man at me the yellow corset of lather abrupt in season a few darning
eggs I only kept in hopes you’d be back so few hours later and now
high moon shaking
I slack
my tenderness I hid until you


My Body Sympathetic


pieces that pass first test
first test being believe it or not sitting down right dead drunk
small cold and absolutely broke
without crying when all the characters are leathering
advertising themselves as red cold ribs
flexible and sad


They Chase Me From Inside

Time Doesn’t Exist

except as vessel for desire



Bore

of little stallions under glass



The zipper of sun through the windshield

the way your mouth moves



Whistles taut and right

a quince tree silvers the sling of your back



The red jay tramples

advertise yourself as red



The whorls of your fingers repeat on the tablecloth

a single match worn away



Quick and sour with sun

handsome and scabbed with wind



Is a noun presenting a beautiful woman who allows herself to sing

clumsy with whisky



A plastic bag full of plastic bags

put everything back



Among us willing to sprint

does it register as someone you’ve been desiring



Is the fun that is done though I'm sorry I haven't had much time to belong

swallowlight sounds nearly soundless



Sat against the sloppy memory where starlings swallows

spread red thigh



All those kitchenettes stuck

spoons castor against my skull



When the lamp shone though was bitter

how steep embodies steep



Light and pillow and a butter pat collide

stalks empty slippers



Now to have more lightning

if I feed whitenesses moss



I harm my spools against you

the mirror effect of water waiting



The river is causal from this height

wind blooms against my fingers happiness



Mention leather and whippets stand on their bellies

colors I know you might prefer my laugh with a cut lip



The spinning jenny spun

flesh



Who built the floor which holds the table

curious flesh with shut blue hands



A ceiling anticipated

such yellows spin tires on commercials for tires



I wore a pillow as a body

or maybe a cat to a disinterested passion



Half a hard hard candy tucked in the chip of your cheek

the drip a red red symbol



Whereas metaphor made me an iced tea

you transformed you



The location suggests the meaning

astronauts lonely in your hands



Grasshoppers woke my pillow

with fermentation with lightning bugs



Until I’d suppressed desire I saw pin-black specks of blood

ticks smashed sidewalk flat



A dirty air

farmland flirts with itself



Thinking of you last night a spoonful fills my apartment

I come back and you’ve taken a job on a fishing boat off Alaska



I know a bridge is a kiss

finds you wet along the skin of the pour



When I see wool I sweat

when you see wool do you



Your honesty teaches me for this present

limp is no indication of how I was raised



Does

away from being silent together



Another lay green flute drawn

against tongues we forgot to tell



Water and strange machines of ellipses

waiting frames sleep



And we bow

to blue the banks slant with noon



Giving recognition though clearly through bad sun or drip

as I’ve ever felt pennies lifted by the handful off my belly

Rape in the Toy Aisle

You said the blood was sweet like a weapon. I want to sharpen against you my sense of irony, Dear Loved One, my olives dripping their brine on your face from my marigold mouth. When I told you I wanted to touch your Germany, I was being sarcastic. I wanted to touch the deep reptile of you, sock your handcuffs back out, be inebriated by your attention until I could no longer swallow. What else would we stuff. The blood was sweet like a weapon rotting. Sharp with the taste of the freshwater-filled creatures that grow in salt. The undersea vents that test us like disease. Take the dripping hold and shut it. Be a boat, okay. Be a boat and wet yourself on the underside. Provide anchor for tiny mulligans. Be a blood caboose. My face is wet with tearmarks that you paint over with a watercolor brush made of sable dripwet hairbelongings. The elf is dying in me. The inside of me is the blood that terrifies. I am afraid. I am afraid and I don't want to show it. Tell me your safe word so I can break it. I don't have any desires that don't direct me. Direct me.

Thesis

Favorite me, Mom, somersault
sweating your pockets. Whistle lit sugar
skeined in figure eights a rainbow of skims
of blue and blue. Your soul wants to burn
down the lower staircase or a bedding
throat. How we eat with no lips
of light by the fur of your drapes
my wanting wanting.
You think, silver had to thaw
flesh so awkward come to mind
when ducks dial underwater: A pause
in the universe's cold. We don't see
where the wild fours grow a chrysalis,
your pieces flush
with Venetian blind on the painted wall
above the cubing jewel of the shadow
body, thirsty and searching
for a clock. The disordered
bones of night cough up
a yellow spotted frog, fraught,
that my face transforms. How I become
a block a block forgiven.

dapper


arrangement


six then eighteen syllables
slut against me


erupt


you
bloom
swallow
bed


new
board

tend


remind me
to speak German


anvils


chippery

go

clipped

undead

No. Orleans


beardish


bed bugs

go


forbid me
and I will


go

undead


chicory



stolon
stamen

pilfer
dent

dendrite
blowsy

grail
stale

musty

fierce

entire

"many builders perished"


release

meatly melt met me meant measure mass must mast melange

deeping

figurines

clay

boxes

yard

slump
lines

born

epicenter

cave

meat

able

running



tabula rasa

white jade

bone
slimming


an eye on the thumb of a finger

rooted in the sacrament

name your characters


salmon bone

shilling

corpsy

insist
love
cell
lift

dank

show
repeat

peep

grabby

enamored

inamorata

hunger

deus ex machina

pharmacopeia

politics

grief

peckish
dance
salad
concupiscence

science

write about seedy things

transformation

pretend sleep

hocus pocus hanky panky

hillory pillory

pumpish
pumpkin

Erlkoenig

exchange

sultan

plum

potatoes

smash

ceremony

brand

lamely

fingerprints

why we have

plinth

oblong

true

pugs

grabbing

parting

wash

panda

shard

gussy

oblong

grabbish

he knows nothing about it

underground

ability

sidebar

parnting

landing

ice

tarp

gussy


a body

split



peach peach peach


shark


hork


fog
kidney


cut


precious
school

When I asked the girl from Alaska if she'd heard of Lebanon bologna she hadn't

"Milton I need to speak to you in confidence"

You could tell she put the sticker on her check pretending it had come there by accident

Please sit

I'm a widow now

"I just wanted more than I thought I would want"

"I can think of someplace if you're serious"

He has a weird relationship with women

A young blond man if you were going to sell him

What I heard about different spellings for the word blond

"It's my husband"

Let's divorce

I want to tell the world but it's too beautiful

Where else can I allow myself to repercuss

It's you


A FLOWER

in my morning together with my perception of you and (ring tone up like a seive) (up a sleeve) my perception of me

I am the raw starfish morning,


GARGLING

predator prying myself open bivalvic

a fresh breah (but with my occasion irregularity) in the mist

assault

peregrination


HICCUPS

in the rocking chair


I came down to the water then I sang my chockcherry lips part weapon

I put out the other dollar signs and the sound of the beach was crying

allow another standard of living

allow which other connection

I glanced up to Lake Washington

the glance was the thing

it felt like Greece at a similar elevation

is sea level the same everywhere and how long does it take me to make decisions

I'm going to leave you soon

I cannot answer any of your questions I can't even hold a piece

no starchy vegetables at all to back you up

Paper Towel Commercials

I rumple my window
wine will lock my quiet

oh beautiful trap
the uxor of sleep
beyond the sun
is a Cheshire camel
and a ghost its hand over its thin forehead
the gamut
dianthus below the bleachers
in red bleat
the hole is too beige

wine will lock the door behind my quiet

I will guide my forty-five gills

through the luxury of hot caged sleep

rotting apples and the gamut

my stallions a cheap breakfast for one and all

the rotten smell of wet dry sand wetting and drying day after day in the sun

tv is an effective babysitter

I am a network of neurons though you can't tell me exactly what it is that you feel

all the holiday traffic

to help my own release valve I am my own summer house

the fucks have it

I bloated a ten-gallon

my own sweet Caroline

calming like ink through fabric

a hankering for shoo fly pie

get ready for the onslaught

my own new blue shoe

what stylish garden shears

make certain to leave the state early

the sun lightnings a sandy meadow

there are more than five hundred variations of the traditional dart game

fearing in flocks enough company

seeking sticky-armed man

why have flavors

her friends grew up poor

my sweet tooth insufferable but water should calm me down

bamboozled

chocolate covered cherries

the galloping minds forget to worry

tamed

to be the leisurely version of myself

I have been here at my own throat

tictacs and whitepink grapefruit flesh as offerings

stars land like lust tasting grit

carry a child a plate of hot peppers

alive with patterns themselves like mice

the gardens of stone tiger from siblings

a ballerina stomping machine

the option to be a cracker maven

the hole itself too big to feel

had it become the desert stormy little window plastic

the face was targeting me

I put pens in things so that I do not lose my place

oh beautiful trapper

schedules of fruit today

to feel strange asking to let you know everywhere in these small North Carolinas

I couldn't

I was too sad

even in dreams

impulsivity and who is going to pay my bills

sprout for me pornographic fantasies

beyond the sun is a Cheshire cat and a thin ghost with its hand across its forehead

though I'm glad the men make a field trip of going to pick up the bleachers

end the season

what are some of the things I love about Laporte, Pennsylvania

fireflies on a summer night

the sweet smell of ferns

no tv

the sound of the Loyalsock

newts

deer feeding on blueberries at dusk

I love all the spiders here and the way the forest looks at dust

I love moths and flies and dragonflies

I love the dianthus and the day lilies and the fresh asparagus growing in the backyard

going barefoot

the sounds of the bullfrogs at night

the birds all day long

eating meals on the wrap-around porch

fresh flowers on the table

sweet corn and plums

tomato and cucumber salad

I love blueberry and peanut butter sandwiches

the cool mystery of the forest even at noon

brooks springs and wells

the smell of the land after rain

we had corn and went for a walk to catch the sunset like sherbet before it melted

a butterfly a photogenic one at that

Mom's junk was everywhere but my junk was everywhere too

hot day salad: baby spinach, red pepper, tomato topped with pomegranate juice and olive oil

it's red to beat the heat

words are bloody lipprints

eggshells make the best and shiny coffee

it rubs your teeth the wrong way

Mom how many men do you think your daughter has slept with

and your son

what did you think we were doing on all those sleepovers

sit down and be a troop

doctor's orders that I fatten up a bit

about our dad

I find myself being the harsh judge of what a father should be

about your near-miss was it with the law or was it more a debacle in personal hygiene planning

there was an island village and on it were some faeries named Thelma Rose and Hodgkins

give them juice

they look famished

I really wanted like a seashell to reinvest in myself

the joys of paranoia

to be gay in a small town

it's a strangle

without one another the nap before the storm

I always feel like I have to have funny stories to offer up as though my presence was not enough

I Macbeth myself around the house, playing gay, putting on my pretty slippers and fuzzing up the floor. I’m a pom pom, I flit, I act exasperated when someone says something intelligent. What’s that, first in the yard, the pugs I adore, the little wuvly pugs I call names in babytalk and shush with my herringbone lips. This winter I knew it’d be cold so I wrapped myself in ermines and royal purples to keep in the blood heat. For you and for the moon so you could feel comforted, both reflecting your light off my sateens. Toys in an attic, I tell the nature poet, to see what she’ll write with it. Then I tell her let’s play make-up housewives together. Missoula housewives take their blond hair on a walk. Honey gums my fuzzy slippers and I am marooned. Honey, I call, please remove me from this poem. It’s sticky and getting deeper. And if I stay so sweet a dog will chase me! I wish the woman poet were my man. I wish I could entertain myself so swiftly as the dogs chase me, my little pugsy wugsies and I stomp the honey off. I am a strong lacuna, I tell myself. I tell myself I am my own lacuna. And that if something’s not right it mustn’t be attributed to my lack of attention to detail. I flit, I shop, I am gay in my tights and boots I found on sale but bought them full price anyway, for the story of it. A certain figure transposes itself inside my brain. It starts as a full pot of rice, is licked, and becomes magic. A magic Bridget Riley I want to take into my orifice and kill for her adorability is unacceptable here. There is only one speaker, there is only one eye, this poem is for Lucie Brock-Broido as I respect her hunger but not her methods. I am eyeing her niche in the futureworld and telling my slippers to seek it. Run, feet, run. The birds this morning remind me of my nature poet, I’ll name her Bridget Riley and I am bipolar about her. I am running myself into the bridge I dreamed about and have been writing poems about since I began writing this morning, fuzzy slippers ajamble near the gut of my hips, I bon bon myself into American society an American blue holiday wherein gay men in their late adolescences and early adulthoods drink themselves to death. Unless they’ve killed themselves with shotguns or found themselves pinned to an IV drug and HIV positive, bareback and with no elders to look to. Tell me it isn’t so, my slippers whimper, I whisper back, it’s true. This is a Fort Hood that’s been going on too long, too slowly, too many gay men dead. No sociologist will touch me. Two novels I’d like to write involve the serial self-destruction of gay men. It’s not limited to us, I tell my slippers, it could be anyone denied. Nature longs after a voice, expresses itself in trees and when we begin to kill one another we defer nature, tell it it's almost time for peace. What about the dead. What about our grief. And the names of those who have killed themselves show up in the newspaper as heart attacks or unspecified. The family is ashamed. And may not suspect their loved one was gay. In the afterlife they criticize us for not stomping out of our slippers and caring. What is no longer demanded hurts all of us. The criticism the breeze picks off is not loud enough. Gay love poems were never enough. The gay couples I look up to are not monogamous. They are the only ones I see together. Montana is rife with heterosexism. I can’t hold my boyfriend’s hand in the street so I don’t have a boyfriend. My sick slippers are off my feet and heading to bed. This is what I want to do. This is where I want to give up and stop. This is where my dead friends are remembered and I don’t tell anyone that I feel sad. This is my shame at the grief I feel for my dead. The dead men I don’t know who died of AIDS. All they got was this stupid quilt. Fuck off, I tell myself, but maybe I need to hear it. In that movie where all the gay men die of AIDS. Oh, we’ve never heard of it. Filmmaker, make it. In that song where all the gay men die of AIDS. We’re still being born. Stillborn into a society that doesn’t recognize our pain. Untitled performance artist, would you stand up in mixed company and tell a message. Will you couch it in rhetoric so people don’t trust it. A tree in the backyard echoes my grief. I have never been able to express it. I couldn’t cry for days. It’s physically exhausting. This poem is a distinction I’m making to myself for my own laziness. I’m lacking the resources to do anything but write this poem and be angry. I want to be angry at you for agreeing with me. What does it mean if you agree with me. What will any of us do. I can’t bring back my dead. I can hardly remember.

The Sun Bakes Me Into The Seat Of This No Air Conditioning Car

seven

colors

create

rainbow

shadows

clouds

seven

trees

windy

cinders

grasses

slopes

fields

trails

seeds

insect

color

white

lights

green

rainbow

shadow

greens

blues

violets

through

glass

inside

clouds

grains

hills

yellow

slopes

clouds

blues

ochre

cadmium

white

light

grasses

clouds

waving

whites

shadow

windy

stormy

dirty

dusty

bright

sunny

white

bare

the apples

offal

sharp sticks

ticker clock

dry rot

dry socket

brush

teeth

hair

stained from

breastmilk

raw egg blood

fertile

forest of teeth

stiff hair

know

not split open bloody but deep

dry ache

it is not my pain

warm skin

slick tides

blood

greedy eyes

not you not your

needs are no explanation

Grass Hair, Plated Flat: Shades of Sinew, Yellow

the sevens

the time alone

intense

a movement game

a stick of lime

ignore the response

abilites

march moon

april stars early

moaning no response

their response

the time table

water table

stick

figure me the numbers

tell

tailed

sloping

justify

read me out

order

time time

wait for

starry

in until

white

chalky

standing here in the glares

from windows

from eyes

gloves souls

marching

seeing me from all angles

no justification left

planes

no more

stars

tangled hair in gel of combs

black things

nets nest

nougat

monster

soaking acceleration

morning

moor mired anchor safe anchor haven fleeting

stoke the fire

ticker vehicular

stardust

music on the radios of you

dream you dream you dream you dream

days of clearance

up up I tell my eyes but they are stuck to that floor

the plum tomatoes

her pears bear her cactic nipples

dry dark tentacular growth

sticking teeth

into siblings' skins

cane

canned rot

that glass reflection

at the well not the bottom of the stairs

but somewhere near there

who's going to make breakfast

the children especially no

no no

well maybe but still no

fecund

dark hooting

are we outside the bed

did we learn of the abuse

yet

and if not then when because it was

every time

skin slough

hurt

all gone no longer

don't

we will not take responsibility

slender limbs

every one knows

any one can know

the knowing you know

stop

at the red

nails

Encounter with a Breakfast Gnome is the Sighing of the Goldfish Tank or Talking to my Brother-in-Law About Sexual Abuse

tangerine

time I mean

a bowel movement

yogurt

granola

pick up trash hearing

children's voices

the specific

voices of specific

children while trying

to fall asleep needing

hydration the high

fructose corn

syrup nightmares where

you wake up

no certain

temperature no particular

place and then you're hearing me

here

you

on the bellies of my nocturnal

night

shift on

my chest

and belly of it all tell

tell me why the lockers

are full

of rot

oranges and stick

tables why all that wet

wood soaked with

citrus and you

with

the combination

you said the morning would be ripe but my bed was cherry blossoms

and you

kept laughing

I can't

help

the bugs from taking turns the sand fleas

fear

the garden of naught

enzymes cultures

active yeast

brew a mirror to

my brain you

you

you tell

me of the desert

when you

think lemon

it is mid morning but we neither

know nor tell what is

dusted there

the carpetbaggers birth

family

toddlers

steam cleaning sugar

sugar raws the roof of my mouth

the chew the rinse the stare

crumpled

breakfast

some wild mushrooms

don't run the diapers off

a light a flashlight a saw

at night

the poison

needle

and mommy

why are all your names made

of grapefruit the syllables sour

and juicy sibilance

raw citrus

a mess

of

noodles

slippery

mirror are you

pretty

you beautiful horse shining moonbeams off your intuition

are you a unicorn

with the

long

and longing

Grandma

I hear you tell my sister her doll is ugly. It is. Cabbage Patch dolls are.

I have a garden and hedges and a hill and a sandbox and crabapples and crayons, ducks and small children around me. My mom babysits a girl named Allison I like because she is quiet and doesn’t touch my toys.

Grandma, you who teach me depression is unacceptable, crying in secret.

Solid synapses clap, the tripleting of the heartbeat tribunal, it makes my face blank the way your face is washed and drifts.


---------



I’d chosen the French horn because my cousins played it, and she'd sneered.


By then, I'd had tens of lovers. Her honesty taught me how to be cruel and loved the more for it.

This limp and hanging thing I present to you is no indication of how I was raised.

Told (I objected) as though you were the one I was scared to object but I poisoned your blind wet comb in a hurry against your body hair and my aphasia.

My pouts I suffocated in oatmeal so bridges I build move heaven in carriages to you and along your rimming perception I see and attract, me kissed across a coital meadow with your sex seating soot along my britches.

My haunches wear fear were fair.

Warfare I move to be at the new bridge looking very small behind trauma.

This means I hurry wet trees in almost lavender patterns to cite the peacock and fortress the bridge to grow it strong.

It could taste my mouth as my small running dream you almost spindle closed, the nose, my home, any utensils I use, the new moon to be away from you, trip then plant taste at your crooked running.

I post beauty, another post in the bridge treeing.

How can I build without wanting to sell you my chrysalis and lights so you can see me back at those old oatmealed bridges.

Are you finally poisoned.


I know spinning and work and tone and water is two wheeling is in this fell you kissed myself you were all you’ll wake I thought.

Conscious, I slow I take about you had better really calm and pout a Wonderland in it in my realm of couldn’t you’d better not hit anything on the head my condolences and I was the one treeing here I was that upset that when there were condolences they weren’t directed at me.

But it being not when but then it being then I manipulate you I believe you don’t object then when as I flexed I had read out to your uncertainty at the rain I created then and tried hard to brew rumors.

Beethoven Liked Golf, Natch

You know how much I owe to the credit card companies, how it is to begin again, and what old music creates in my chest--conflation.

Do you dance the genius?

They'd don't call it the Blue Monster for nothing.

A dun glut grunts.

The inside of your golf ball is orange green or blue.

Who of us will be today's oppressor.

A page of miniature reindeer red shivers an unblue body bare feet. As a homophobe I braid myself. Tree stump fresh of its tree. Let's say aspen on the verge of.

The gay stereotype is entertaining. Tell me.

What I brought to interrupt the love story, words

A Dutch painting's walnuts in a white and blue bowl make me fall in love with you. No, Tim, it was you and not the painting that makes me express. I've never imagined your eyes closed without me.

O doggedly handsome you are unavailable, or I am.

I keep telling everyone to go to Al-Anon.

When could you desire me, chasing for when I'm a child the sounds of nine pins struck attention.

Or swept cursives we wrote denial at desire at us desiring to be together without shame.

To sing a music outside

when I sought the numbering two numbers appeared

one I searched to find out what kind of magazines you searched for

which I could arrange and rearrange in numbers of washed-out chill willows

I saw that you were eating your lunch

saw that I was interrupting

and saw that you shut me out early

let the mission mirror you and allow its sumptuous revelry of light

if I peek don't tell me

you saw me peeking

this is a game of cupboards

my hands over my eyes in red arrangement

no my lids

something to cuckold

you wrapped me in the sheet of your lidding peculiar to me

in that it seems a motion to originate from the mouth

I want to step in

to glue the business of the machine

your mouth cuts against mine the desire I swallow like a tongue

just like a tongue to follow myself into unconsciousness

dust cuts a trail in wind and vice versa

on hours of waiting spread filth to interest

let the mission be the mirror I build a bridge to

so all can see so we whet appetites

fifth child of parents I race the young to the water

could you jump out of the two numbers I arranged earlier

like a hoop

or do you need three

could you search with me to find the magazines again

you told me you were busy eating your lunch am I interrupting

you are still eating lunch

I do glue the business of the machine

whether being lunched at or not I do glue it

I do create sentiment control the flow of song from your mouth

into my mouth then glue it shut

communication machining

you mouth me open when I shut down shut

shut and glue

do you see a way to cut my mouth open

without injuring your ability to lunch uninterrupted

I worry the waiting and spread the film of mouth on mouth the trail on wind the tongue the skin within me

the open mouth the open unconsciousness

we have two more years of wandering Mother

I harm so many of my spools of light against you

to find the magazines

define your lunch as something eaten without me

bothering my prodding

let the mission be the mirror I build the bridge from my mouth to your kiss to keep

blue glue kiss mouths

the keep of my mouth shut you inside my mouth

the keep of my shut mouth shut you inside

fifth child of my parents I want to assign an astronomy

this is a game of cupboards and where do you fit

do you wonder the string the yawn open

I get to be just and I get to be the string that tightens shyly

but complicit tight

what knot I ground myself against I found you sitting along the river

I found your face all scabbed with cringe

the flow of song from your mouth into my mouth then glue it shut

crowd out and clouds too of umbrellas

allow mirroring trestling

running its smile updown your face to dance not to sing to sly shoe

and presentations are wondering if I could be fifteen years of snowshoes in your garden

the keep of my mouth shut shy inside

bonking at the cupboard Mother

spokes pearl the lowground

I see your dust mixed in it

I took the easy pinch Mother could you answer

the string that tightens shyly

Mother can you snowshoe me back at your garden your garden its smile upsidedowning umbrellas

the minutes touch their hours

I want to build you my bridges

are you sure the muscle is hugging braiding the numbers

seconds crown down at the lip a bonnet

which you call windmills deprived of sleep pennies from the bents of your eyes

soap the beautiful napes of those chapter books

if you’ll lithe a few days there were apples to kill me

smell hot cocoa with water

cocks react to my own hanging

oh Mississippi the roomlessness of rural route numbers

I abandoned them in a streetcar of my skin

because they are hairy

cliffs anticipated heat

ribbons of wrens crack together

deception might believe Mother

I get wanting any ocean

your eye does it clover the Arctic

on the screen door the blood draws a silver sing of your back

twin beggings

a fly was both flapping hindlegs

you place a hunt away

paper towel on three dry martinis

encaustic their cold against the playground anchor the way violet is not a white

crows three by the sea and not mostly

butcher with sleep the head

your eyes create in me miles of mending

you pulse me inside

a salt a marigold river tries as ribbon body pulls

the hour we spent in ceiling

in the cardboard of the bunkbeds my peacocks and peahens

incredulous with suede and confusing

and all over I touched my principles

if you’ll leave me Januaries

don’t kick the citrus strange

we can snowmelt anything praying

shrine the sky his lips for the taste

for staring and hot chocolate are basic human needs

bramble’s tripling seeds

by iterations you want to make doubt with him

I’m sorry for this might put my hand in his pocket

the weird voice of a dictionary

some inner delusional speaker to menace

takes off the strung peppers

orgasms again apologizing

high school boys jogging past your window roadmap

sisters gloved with where they’re headed

it was both light yellow of water waiting

your letters and in them so many

curb your tight wests against fermentation

letters I kept them closed though wrens try

black the architecture of which no one knows

on and on my knuckles purple leaving in the mouth the good idea

thin as sunburn

your sister might be secretly weather in a cup

a hiss or just after melts ice a gash

pollen’s hips in sockets

a chrysalis encaustic freezes

your boyfriend sundials the thin crust of his tuxedo

the underground well on the subway

cousins naked as prom night

I have puked Christmas asparagus

keep your spiked cider on the front porch

mouth I an orange crush

the blop of rain on my tongue it smells carolers

the grape smell of cider is a carbon copy

I remember Denny’s was heavy with milk

unpredictable glitter snoring or making out

the playground sentences the river bottom you pick up to tell you through hiccups the pineapples’ diaries

the cars might smile who wanted me

I can’t blame you for all this love lettering the footbridge grinding

too shy apples embarrass river’s glossy topcoat

candy dances at the apple cider birthday party

bubbles the unexpected spend

we ask one another when asked to fall in reflections

we let rot fight long and roiling script

a yellow grape with juices

Alaska swallows the grape’s diary

pretend the states are people especially Mississippi she is heartbroken

it’s difficult to avoid ogling you’re steeping in your skin

have we stolen the express lane maybe we want it

at first as a joke your orgasm in my teeth a wing

perforated a speaker my sex

your triggers know how an hour to take

a seven swigs the ungodly the I’m in a movie

where Sam swallows Mark I was interested a prop

fingers playing flirty flirty

red dwarves and strawberries collect in cages

that scar on your arm you got it from a French knife in love

the skin teeming screech spangled a professional green

want to share bracelets of light

tickle searched his clavicle

we could chocolate somebody the now

on the quad implied an intimacy

two fish reference our wet noses

the Pleiades not blue in their sockets

the promise the moon sold

my face they tasted was wet no it was blinked twice last year this time

light wrung against a pear

distance becomes a giant’s ellipse

I could steep then remember water on a beach

at least on the first date icicles accompany mosquitoes

your pretty please lips

dime store amphibians twitch when you are sleeping Mother

silver smiles a milk snake one life span long

mouths you can hide behind

you are lemon purring crowns

the seconds would conglomerate stealing the homemade alarm

your pocket going into your body

you even collected barf bags

your glass lips maybe I could kiss drop of honey water

you sat on the frog trap and now no one will let you near the pond to see the lilies

the guy in shorts he went the other way the shorter path without the mud

I can only hope I have enough flour to last me until midnight

like points of stars to God

take care of star kiss for me while I'm away and take care of all the baby dinosaurs

none of us particularly know what they eat so please do your best

make myself a muffin tin

mister don't touch the spare key it enjambs the world and if you ever take it away from me I will give your head a whack from this ruled stick

anonymous lime jello cubes made me late

how to say hello to seagulls

all I have to do is stop at the bank, call my taxi, drop off rent at Dan's, eat dinner, go with Nick to homegroup, then shine time

the slipknot of the rush hour whore

first day of my freedom vacation

did I learn it from the Italian sausage at Caron?

the reason not to have a car is that I could taste it

why I like the word bitter so much

my stewed fruit breath

nor do I have time to be your fetish girl, little boy

I keep the smell of old lovers rustling around in my nostrils

I feel competent

I was thinking about that the other day

I have a window seat

I don't have a newspaper

I'll be human enough to make the mistake of too much luggage or makeup or gender issues

a stint in my spleen to help it beat like cardiac muscle

pretzels with cream cheese are extremely delicious

my face in a notebook is not so interested

I do not have air platinum status

but I do have to pee before boarding

let me take this opportunity to morning around

not to take the raft out of your mouth

you thinking it is warm sleep gum

no one expects me to get better

to find a husband but that is exactly what I plan to do

such a compliment made me smile deep in the back of my head

one kid smelled like tomato juice sitting next to me on the plane

the back of the ride nothing special no secret compartments no surprise characters or rice paddies

no lunches no esplanades no explanations no Rilke no silk no more four letter words that mean hot or gay no things not meaning what they mean

no one else telling me about how their parents are splitting up

the demon pent up groin need always hungering

hankering up my shirtsleeves to be petted

skitter the sleeves of my shirt with your heart and never let me catch you

you are a cool chameleon and I don't believe your colors

the real you is not a lizard at all but a bat

what occasion caused you to strike

don't you dare come back with a tan

your knee and throat are throbbing but not in unison

in the polka-dot linen red on green olive shirts lighting cigars on the plane the seats so high I cannot see anyone's bad teeth

the man and Sam still somewhere over there playing

church bell grazing this park

the food situation so difficult for a single nonparent

SINKs: single-income no kids

the spoon hunched over how much I need that food

I want dinner in my stomach, dessert at home with an optician husband

peoples' heads move so strangely when they talk

talking about their nicotine addictions like they're proud

how I am not part of a couple

without talking about hangovers

a woman pleading with her guy and smelling of hair dryer

three minutes to go until I get to go up and see the Monet

I don't have to look sexy I don't have to look miserable

iron rabbit teeth wanting to crunch something

the morning the tail feather touched heat

ice stung with wayward shores

did I tell you about the pot plant growing in my son's room he would never admit to it but it was yellow as a garden

the angel tail throw rug

Erika was upset at one of her piano students for playing at the same time as this really famous pianist at a restaurant

was a Vietnamese little girl

there were so many cookies everywhere for me to eat

I found a little uncomfortable bench with a curved back

I saw a father and his daughter wearing shoes

almost round things

a woman feeding squirrels peanuts out of a bag with a square bottom

who decided humans could have babies year-round and not just in the spring

unbathed becapped bescarfed day

that day of all mustachioed days

most people are thinking about dinner

art majors who eat linseed oil and perspiration only

the curiosity of the car horn bonked three times

prevents my reverie

I could marry a few people but I won't make that mistake again! says the teddy bear in a tree calling himself a squirrel

to prune the nasty bits of my soul far away from me

am I on file-how many places could look up my social security number as thought that was my name

I do the flower like Whitman intoxicates the grass green

blond pregnant women who takes pleasure in saying the word "guy" like it's a lollipop

children tell each other things so insistently no thought of a thought

the small inside the trousers people walking sick from effort

the heart the stick stir stump

I do not want to move from this spot though I'm feeling coed

a wire running up that tree

like two sneakers hanging down

some sort of electronics

a man just called his dog Sam

as recently as this morning

the oven I always thought I loved

no I did not date him though it's possible I dreamed about it

he had phrases like grubby fingers

he used my emotional anchor

pale pellets of songs over and over and over and over and over playing their hail into my hair

the bergamot shampoo either smells really good or is poison or both

but his new job could bring him redemption

I cannot answer any of your questions I can't even hold a piece of conversation

no starchy vegetables at all to back you up

no cooking just blank rice and "sir" and the possibility always of a cold pending the morning

vulnerable to mildew but claiming not to be

why could I never tell you that I was too sick to fuck

my hands shake with my throat

I have the cut up images we made together cut even further

none of you made me feel whole

not so much art as its application

I like tights.

You have red hair and I called you a rugrat. To the man who knows the man I love I called you a rugrat. Because I do have a crush on you, on your small teeth and the way you move your mouth like you chew tobacco and you don't. O I put that in there because I don't want anyone to know I like the ones who chew. I see your small Irish teeth and you have two tattoos. You told me meanly that I think all redheads look alike.

Iteration

the friar realizing his error that it was only that she had hid
articulate hard tines
of organ music and frequent showers
like a milk tight snake in the morning her tenderness
they tole me Arkansas II and Mississippi and you know what
recoils crowding around me like lit pages I stain so healthily
when all the characters are leathering
brilliant
laminate the wind
like icewater to moat
if Ted ever comes by with a fork
Tripodic
it had been so long my cum the yellow of snot I ejaculated in your
Water’s strange machine
tongues of lather
moisturizer your face in an embrace with mine our corseted mouths and
our centaur dries
I get wanting to clover your eyelids
clovers shone man at me and it could never have happened had any of us
your anchors sweat my lidding quietly in a wash a hungry eclipse spinning
terror I wipe a seeding awful many ellipse
ever been aware of what we were saying unless it was around someone we
its hindlegs tripodic
your scentway dries
a crowd. I know spinning enough
I din’t believe um I sat right now on my tush tush and crahed.
tho he never know it my love is so embarrassing my diary even

I ask my mirror reflection if we can’t make
a seashell’s amps a map
a garage door kick sour mouths
sort and pick. There would be so many tire swings
of you last night when a spoonful filled my apartment
tense would conglomerate only in the past, only by way
all the exercises stand stanchion still and silently
I ate unashamed the minnows
speaking their speak against the cold playground. I would
stir whorls and raisinettes left
I kept them closed though wrens try to wrench them
a commitment on the body the head
color pickling
these branches aren’t for securing a dam
is a neck of crows how many depends on
shin brackets asleep
when I scarred the backsongs we were meant to show
against gratis perfumes whirl
it was a heroin chic the opposite
fairground and she really was
in a bed of gutter
under glass stallions
your mouth moved
a quince tree whistles
of organ music and frequent showers
mascara, it was a poultice and
all those kitchenettes stuck in her hair
that the future and present
be questioning my own motives, sent through the future
were you wrapping your voice in creams

yet tight against my skull I can feel their influence
a bin of winks all fluttery
backsongs when I scarred many of us
to the maple tree, allowance, little

Poetry: It’s an auction off
not for us yet tight against my skull I can feel is nothing
it does not memorize.
and in it so many milks milks that haven’t been invented darling not for us
to get a hold of me is by pouring gunk in my.
It chases me from inside
like aversion of stockings
Anne Carson’s influence
nothing like a houseboy
smiles,
“I’m affliction.”
having been
You are a cup and a rigid sinner
a cotillion stem
I ask myself about stairs, especially
wet cane and snowmelt
swift windows and the marigold river that junctures the water cooler.
bugling, “We were meant to show young perfumes’ lids’
ending” sour after the fact
We’re having a fundraiser on Friday, October store.
Don’t be coy I know you have one Thank you
teeth apart sex? spiritual compilation. It can be pointed. I am a wheelbarrow
car. Smut memory this doesn’t have to be
I appropriate 2 gray cats 4 crying hinds. Here we cast up, lips together,
my pulse a cup a pointer apologize remember the best way

gray not in color but feeling the rasp
soaking in vinegar a bin of winks all fluttery
gray not in color but feeling
caught almost but calmly tacking
bending sour after the fact
someone who stalls
bloom-fed mules paint-blind rabbits
your anchors sweat my lidding
like organ music and frequent showers
mouth in tatters
carved unsure and sweet
notes the gnat obliquely
beside dawn through trees’
hoes and buckles hung with arching
pageant-hound grabbits
landslidish heroics
caught almost but warmly jacking
chiming as moonsore chiclets
calyxes of dentistry
what we’ve created apparently here we
crepes of tear-wings
pageant-round habits
my organ music and frequent showers
answers
your rancors whet my bidding
broom-fled mule taint-tried rabbits
its tin ribs again
minnows guys with lightbright teeth
if icicles when asked not in color but feeling
smiles
so simple stalls against your nape so often
singeing, mothing between us

Boy do I believe you.
a wary arrow everyone is playing an angle I could never apologize for
a bad smell becoming even worse when you realize molecules
Black
using the orgasm lever the arm is an extension of the brain
out of his posing speedo
where petals boxcar your eyelids a fly scrubs its hindlegs tripodic
the piglets scrutiny her breasts deliberate swollen gestures
the architecture of which no one knows
and knuckles where unrequited becomes
a place, it’s a lifestyle.
When I brought you a lemon you claimed
you ain’t never again a cuke
the soft brown dying your eyes create in me twinge suckling beginnings of a
fall
how steep embodies the milk
I feel along me like brushgrass. I see that you are doing well in your lessons.
crack together. It’s not
to collect your hearts
penis skewing hard orange nosing
your anchors sweat my lidding
spine-fed scraps of earwig toes
of water waiting sunglasses and gin
projection memory is on a track she eats
her way slowly you never
told me much about marriage
mice warm up cages for we can make on another
green apples I don’t wish were red
it hurt to transluce. Track down sundial language
encaustic light.

(the seconds threaten from the beaches of your eyes)
(back the sound staggers water’s strange machine
along unkempt’s preen of sleep lay flute-drawn)
(chocolate cake and cigarettes in no particular order
crown down at the lip of the underground well)
(You are brave
druff, but I hunt to eat your whips.)
(pearls whisk heat from the skin)
(how steep
Light Yellow)
(You are the bell I think we should)
(One bodybuilding magazine showed a man)
(quietly in a wash a hungry eclipse)
(in the morning plenty of it creates a long wire)
(bunnies that glow in the dark)
(a chrysalis never watered. Pollen’s brisk)

because of the prophecy
a giant seacastle in the distance, so white
we can only fall into too pale skin
did knowledge get stuck in a man’s throat
mice the way their small bladders would empty white snaps later
and life smells skewed
the way I can still smell isofluorane from when I had to cervically dislocate
mothless light. If they’re pebbles
One question, two answers.
even the sun has trouble hitting it.
with the smell of fermentation budding alcoholism
Red
is the ribbon my body pulls from you
One: sodium
Two: salt and vinegar on a sore
tongue. The Red buds feel true.
you are yellow
in the mouse facility
what just sent ribbons of pain into me
a seashell amplifies feet having never dropped their trope
only once let’s play our zwischens again let’s
changing their clovers shone man at me
Pink
open shops together
why chance once you’re pickled
latches smashed quick and unpredictable upon me
packed tight in your iris your brown eyes that
is your mind a host of friends a honey toast milk almond condition
the brass bold light
Navy Blue
You are the full wax yellow
leaving blown glass remarks
the seconds threaten
A narcotic,
Light Pink
White

(“Last winter the birds dropped frozen colorblind”)
(sharp Adam’s apples may have been tempted)
(bridges I ruined)
(and not pimiento?)
(and the fruiting body unfolds I woke my pillow)
(and life smells skewed my pulse)
(phosphate, mostly)
(Three dry martinis. Spit pimiento
melts a gash in the ice outside. Drown)
(my callous is growing worried
I rush hours to taste the pears of your eyes)
(clumsy whiskey sloshes at me I was
less than one life span long magenta can only be magenta)
(and it could never have happened had any of us ever been aware
of that we were not so caught so as not to collect your hearts)
(a class eight times the regular number
dice dropped multiple times for what reason)
(when I fell dawn through trees in love
stampeded against tongues of lather was snow)
(I would make wax paper puppets)
(You are yellow
and studying to be sex object.)
(the kiss of Sundays like soap
in the mouth the good idea turns bad and foams)

or origami necklaces do you think
warm oatmeal
bread warmer basket
against a swift window a trickle
but here’s your chance to blind
the mosquitoes your friar the brazen
crepes of wing rung with arching
terror I ripe a seeding awful
because of the prophecy
unkempt’s tripling leap tripodic
my mouthnose complex
I get wanting to clover your eyelids
Orange
are you going into your body short and frothy
time created here by opening and closing every auditorium door
a marigold river which tries
as a temper. Bees make their own.
which you call windmills
your letters in my skin like miracles
many ellipse
tongues of lather
anything grabbing at praise
it was both the flapping paper the brown

(grief ever leaves or does it just forget
itself and then remember water on a beach even in this running
I know myself against your dirty trail
a molten poison
none of us touched even)
(both treble and windy gimlet
with seasoning the head is a neck of crows three
if human fourteen if a giant
your stunning kingdom by the sea
salt like a fist which anyone could have written)
(engines cleaning it had been so long my cum
the yellow of snot I ejaculated
in your moisturizer your face in mine
a corset of tongues eliding
prick consent to me
a ceiling whistles recognition taut a transit
so long anticipated to cite the peacock
it could taste feathergreen thrumping)
(quietly and I could
happen on a fly
on its hindlegs, lover are you
the lamb along
umkempt’s tripling)
(its slice against the night
which freezes
the water many of us centered
our bodies communing a bridge a kiss
a hiss or just after
Dark Chocolate Brown
a hiss or just after I thrash
with caffeine and sunburn. I am thin)
(Light Purple
which you call windmills and beautiful napes of those
deprived of sleep pennies and nickels and chapter books
have you ever thought that someone looked like you and wondered
sadly if in a blackout you made pornography
everything through hiccups)
(Hot Pink
many ellipse water’s strange machine
along flute-drawn sleep
another gray greening
rivers away from being silent together
on another wash stampeded against)
(water accompanies us in and out
nothing spearmint like life
carries out lust
or imagination I tell you
it was both
Brown)


Second Iteration

Tripodic
all those kitchenettes stuck in her hair
that the future and the present

gray not in color but feeling the rasp
soaking in vinegar a bin of winks all fluttery
we can only fall into too pale skin
did knowledge get stuck in a man’s throat
Black
using the orgasm lever the arm is an extension of the brain
bread warmer basket
against a swift window a trickle
(all the swatted images all the debonair
sprouts we collided a short tender
I hid like a milk tight snake in the morning
which has specifically parted as if
clipped by by paired barettes
The friar realized his error,)
(brambles against your nape so often
my smile your black jaw installed along my cheek
wearing my acne a salute a date that’s been)
(sharp Adam’s apples may have been tempted)
(the seconds threaten from the beaches of your eyes)
(both treble and windy gimlet
with seasoning the head is a neck of crows three
if human fourteen if a giant
your stunning kingdom by the sea
salt like a fist which anyone could have written)

White
Pink Puffy
Peach
Light Pink
car. Smut memory this doesn’t have to be
I appropriate 2 gray cats 4 crying hinds. Here we cast up, lips together,
my pulse a cup a pointer apologize remember the best way
a seashell’s amps a map
a garage door kick sour mouths
tense would conglomerate only in the past, only by way
all the exercises stand stanchion still and silently
A narcotic,
your rancors whet my bidding
broom-fled mule taint-tried rabbits
I ate unashamed the minnows
(Boy do I believe you
Lime Green)
(said in a circular fashion
constant let it stand
“Nice cool day to be on the hill, isn’t it?”
Something tight, bitchy and twisted I appropriate,)
(of movement the red jay tramples
your skin
having seen the night grim ace)
(of the tire swing that sold itself short when it really wanted to find out where
its predecessors were. Don’t they brilliant
the air with sails, don’t they through)
(terror I whisper)
(trick a not)

latches smashed quick and unpredictable upon me
packed tight in your iris your brown eyes that
ending sour after the fact
open shops together take language
why chance once you’re pickled
a commitment on the body the head
singeing, mothing between us
leaving blown glass remarks
the seconds threaten
We’re having a fundraiser on Friday, October store.
Don’t be coy I know you have one Thank you
it had been so long my cum the yellow of snot I ejaculated in your
stir whirls and raisinettes left
I keep them closed though wrens try to wrench them
teeth apart sex? spiritual compilation. It can be pointed. I am a wheelbarrow
so simple stalls against your nape so often
it hurt to transluce. Track down sundial language
encaustic light.
Navy Blue
You are the full wax yellow
moisturizer your face in an embrace with mine our corseted mouths and
our centaur dries
her way slowly you never
told me much about marriage
my organ music and frequent showers
answers
(when I fell dawn through trees in love
stampeded against tongues of lather was snow)
(a class eight times the regular number
dice dropped multiple times for what reason)
(the kiss of Sundays like soap
in the mouth the good idea turns bad and foams)
(John Montana’s literary magazine was wondering if you’d like to donate
a gift certificate to fact. Also, I’m wondering if I can put up a poster for the
even in your This is a Raffle
corner of the store)
(under the hinges of movie theatres
and many of us had sticky feet
to trip up stairs and our lovers’ bodies
flapping frequently against my sense of design
the shelf it’s simply shoved against
the wall of desire, I’m stuck here wriggles of wine trial my lips)
(a chrysalis never watered. Pollen’s brisk)
(You are yellow
and studying to be a sex object.)
(tongues eliding stickly prick
pieces that contain rigid objects
in season, I sling your drift
when the characters are leather)
(or doors the color of your jaw installed along my cheek
wearing me like icewater to let in the most)

mothless light. If they’re pebbles
One question, two answers.
recoils crowding around me like lit pages I stain so healthily
when all the characters are leathering
beside dawn through trees’
hoes and buckles hung with arching
color pickling
these branches aren’t for securing a dam
a place, it’s a lifestyle.
When I brought you a lemon you claimed
Anne Carson’s influence
nothing like a houseboy
because of the prophecy
(and not pimiento?)
(I rachet. Down the busy street I take my body I choose to
arouse my body sympathetic love a drippler dripping
pieces that pass first test and contain rigid objects
of spring, I sling into your season, I five-petal you to drift)
(nightmarish heroics)
(in German is Blutenstaub
I think of how dust perfumes
register timpani tongues)
(You are brave
druff, but I hunt to eat your whips.)
(on and on and on my pulse.
You remember the best way to get a hold of me is by pouring gunk in my
hair isn’t that right
My pulse is)

Water’s strange machine
Tongues of lather
sort and pick. There would be so many tire swings
caught almost but warmly jacking
chiming as moonsore chiclets
of water waiting sunglasses and gin
projection memory is on a track she eats
is your mind a host of friends a honey toast milk almond condition
the brass bold light
I feel along me like brushgrass. I see that you are doing well in your lessons.
crack together. It’s not
wet cane and snowmelt
(Along flute-drawn sleep
Another gray greening
Rivers away from being silent together
On another wash stampeded against aim)
(a seeded mangy ellipse)
(in the morning plenty of it creates a long wire)
(I would make wax paper puppets)
(You are the bell I think we should)

its tin ribs again
minnows guys with lightbright teeth
yet tight against my skull I can feel their influence.
a bin of winks all fluttery
of organ music and frequent showers
mascara, it was a poultice and
a wary arrow everyone is playing an angle I could never apologize for
a bad smell becoming even worse when you realize molecules
I din’t believe um I sat right now on my tush tush and crahed.
tho he never know it my love is so embarrassing my diary even
mice the way their small bladders would empty white snaps later
and life smells skewed
or origami necklaces do you think
warm oatmeal
(us and me and memory
words bedded)
(You are a cup and a rigid sinner
my acne a salute
ah would you date
someone soaking in vinegar)
(wearing me like icewater to let in most
lowest left hand influence. You are milks that haven’t been invented darling
she was ugly but it happened
that it was only that she had Cheezits
smeared along her eyelids like a bitch)
(I sat right down dead drunk small cold and absolutely broke
and crahed. Pineapples makin out cain’t help me I feel a sound
snap my knee my leg my crashdown crawfish applicate juices.
I sat down snap down my hearing wasted on badding news
my phone is crying drown tears and I cain’t believe it won’t
believe because believe it or not Mississippi was my love)
(bridges I ruined)
(grief ever leaves or does it just forget
itself and then remember water on a beach even in this running
I know myself against your dirty trail
a molten poison
none of us touched even)

your scentway dries
a crowd. I know spinning enough
if icicles when asked not of color but feeling
smiles
are going into your body short and frothy
time created here by opening and closing every auditorium door
because of the prophecy
a giant seacastle in the distance, so white
out of his posing speedo
where petals boxcar your eyelids a fly scrubs its hindlegs tripodic
be questioning my own motives, sent through the future
were you wrapping your voice in creams
backsongs when I scarred many of us
to that maple tree, allowance, little
(articulated a hard on pink
jacks advertising themselves as red
as if to escape its ribs, flexible,
it chases me from inside)
(then grasp
the brambles mending their
mouths in which we pour)
(“Last winter the birds dropped frozen colorblind”)
(back the sound staggers water’s strange machine
along unkempt’s preen of sleep flute-drawn)
(all my nerves, decay of the boyfriend, other effluvia
Tell the senders no matter how rough the prerogative
we’ll always survive, our rubber hammers
laminate. They toke the wind. If it could come on
in the way a hubby boo boo increases ad infinitum)
(were you wrapping your voices in creams.
Earth is the only eye in a larger scheme
3 gay men, ages 38, 27 and 23, gather to write an imaginary poem:
The schoolyard isn’t very green compared)

like icewater to moat
if Ted ever comes by with a fork
gray not in color but feeling.
caught almost but calmly tacking
in a bed of gutter
under glass stallions
I get wanting to clover your eyelids
Orange
even the sun has trouble hitting it.
with the smell of fermentation budding alcoholism
Boy do I believe you.
Poetry: It’s an auction off
not for us yet tight against my skull I can feel is nothing
(low left hand influence. You are milks that haven’t been invented darling
take my left hand and influence me into those milkbrown eggs
influence the darning eggs I only kept in the hopes that you’d be back
don’t I see you there a few hours later?)
(Mooring
machining at boon-poor triplets
a needed hungry eclipse)
(the snake reflective surface
of the dress’s dance
of little spheres set to sing)
(quietly and I could
happen on a fly
on its hindlegs, lover are you
the lamb along
unkempt’s tripling)
(and the fruiting body unfolds I woke my pillow)
(It chases me from inside
Anne Carson’s flowers’ pulse.
You may influence
lowest left hand influence. You are milks that haven’t been invented darling)

Red
is the ribbon my body pulls from you
pageant-hound grabbits
landslidish heroines
your mouth moved
a quince tree whistles
to get a hold of me is by pouring gunk in my.
It chases me from inside
the piglets scrutiny her breasts deliberate swollen gestures
the architecture of which no one knows
but here’s your chance to blind
the mosquitoes the friar the brazen
brilliant
laminate the wind
(and life smells skewed my pulse)
(I spin myself
scraps of earwig
toes and knuckles rung with marching)
(grandstands up on my skin
the pollen in mind
the blood frees
into your body the serial
cloth angels’ fashions draw
the silver sing of your back)
(A room hair isn’t that right I am
fingered and in it so memorize.
A pink wart beneath a houseboy and a rigid sinner on
and on and on my knuckles their purple
they will not)
(chocolate cake and cigarettes in no particular order
crown down at the lip of the underground well)
(with sails
many tires
swing their speak against the playground
then stood stanchion still against my motives)

I ate unashamed the minnows
bending sour after the fact
someone who stalls
is a neck of crows how many depends on
shin brackets asleep
it does not memorize.
and in it so many milks milks that haven’t been invented darling not for us
the way I can still smell isofluorane from when I had to cervically dislocate
ever been aware of what we were saying unless it was around someone we
its hindlegs tripodic
crepes of wing rung with arching
terror I ripe a seeding awful
your anchors sweat my lidding
spine-fed scraps of earwig toes
(simple we both answer
when asked would you date)
(how many of those are willing to sprint
among giants windows
pheasants chill to feel warm after
a ceiling so long anticipated
I plucked from my nails)
(A pink wart beneath my lowest
left hand pointer finger knuckle.
A room of purple and white flowers.
They will not apologize.)
(loved and we remembered it not so caught almost but calmly jacking much
because we said it but because he was there when we did to collect your
hearts back the sound staggers water’s strange machine along unkempt’s
preen of sleep lay flute-drawn where petals boxcar your eyelids a fly scrubs)
(quietly in a wash a hungry eclipse)

fall
how steep embodies the milk
your anchors sweat my lidding quietly in a wash a hungry eclipse spinning
terror I wipe a seeding awful many ellipse
speaking their speak against the cold playground. I would
One: sodium
Two: salt and vinegar on a sore
unkempt’s tripling leap tripodic
my mouthnose complex
smiles
I’m affliction.
to collect your hearts
penis skewing hard orange nosing
(how steep
Light Yellow)
(scraps of earwig toes and knuckles where unrequited becomes crepes of
wing rung with arching)
(phosphate, mostly)
(engines cleaning it had been so long my cum
the yellow of snot I ejaculated
in your moisturizer your face in with mine
a corset of mouths and tongues eliding stickity
prick consents to me
a ceiling whistles recognition taut a transit
so long anticipated to cite the peacock
it could taste feathergreen thrumping)
(mouth in tatters
away from customary crowns.
University of Myers’s local businesses. I can reach me at 717 576 5087 or
john1.myers@umontana.edu.)
(One bodybuilder magazine showed a man)

a cotillion stem
I ask myself about stairs, especially
like organ music and frequent showers
mouth in tatters
anything grabbing at praise
it was both the flapping paper the brown
it was a heroin chic the opposite
fairground and she really was
the friar realizing his error that it was only that she had hid
tongue. The Red buds feel true.
you are yellow
bloom-fed mules paint-blind rabbits
(out
wrens try to work on
the way a house is swift
houses birds,
the shelf it’s simply slice against)
(or doors the color of icewater to let in the most
icicles behind which we pour
miles of mending its)
(water accompanies us in and out
nothing spearmint like life
carries out lust
or imagination I tell you
it was both
Brown)
(of took and it created for me, you
solitude oh there it was it was
pretty please pie it was dunk a mother)
(Three dry martinis. Spit pimiento
melts a gash in the ice outside. Drown)
(pick a knot
error I whisker)

I get wanting to clover your eyelids
clovers shone man at me and it could never have happened had any of us
having been
You are a cup and a rigid sinner
I ask my mirror reflection if we can’t make
in the mouse facility
what just sent ribbons of pain into me
and knuckles where unrequited becomes
many ellipse
tongues of lather
Carved unsure and sweet
notes the gnat obliquely
(Quietly and I could happen
On a fly on its hindlegs
Lover are you the lamb
Along unkempt’s leap
when I fell dawn through the trees in love it stampeded against tongues of lather
was snow packed tight in your iris your brown eyes that changing their)
(an outsider and insider as through a sieve
Violet is not a color (you can hide
behind) the way peach is, the way language is
a reptile
they will not)
(my callous is growing worried
I rush hours to taste the pears of your eyes)
(Hot Pink
many ellipse water’s strange machine
along flute-drawn sleep
another gray greening
rivers away from being silent together
on another wash stampeded against)
(the shore describes itself)

like a milk tight snake in the morning her tenderness
they tole me Arkansas II and Mississippi and you know what
calyxes of dentistry
what we’ve created apparently here we
like aversion to stockings
when I scarred the backsongs we were meant to show
against gratis perfumes whirl
which you call windmills
your letters in my skin like miracles
changing their clovers shone man at me
Pink
you ain’t never again a cuke
the soft brown dying your eyes create in my twinge suckling beginnings of a
(and now with high moon shaking she slacked eyelids like mint
kitchenettes and lost
Arkansas and Miss Sue both tole me Mississippi
is sleeping with Arkansas II believe it or not)
(you taught me to love
my dead hunger.
But had error ever been)
(at the bugle festival in a certain morning barn, door
open to the wings of sun and wingspun
birds a rotation of body and shirked sand many of us)
(Light Purple
which you call windmills the beautiful napes of those
deprived of sleep pennies and nickels and chapter books
have you ever thought that someone looked like you and wondered
sadly if in a blackout you made pornography
everything through hiccups)
(and it could never have happened had any of us ever been aware
of that we were not so caught so as not to collect your hearts)
(pearls whisk heat from the skin)

articulate hard tines
of organ music and frequent showers
swift windows and the marigold river that junctures the water cooler.
bugling, “We were meant to show young perfumes’ lids’
crepes of tear-wings
pageant-round habits
of you last night when a spoonful filled my apartment
mice warm up cages for we can make one another
green apples I don’t wish were red
a marigold river which tries
as a temper. Bees make their own.
a seashell amplifies feet having never dropped their trope
only once let’s play our zwischens again let’s
(tithing themselves
as if to escape the ribs of
chasing me from inside
a spinning. Shroud, I know nougat
I ate unashamed the minnows
of you last night when a spoonful filled my apartment)
(Your pick ground raisins
change color when they’re out
in a certain a.m. body,
a felt wing left sunning up a barn or jelly sandwich club)
(I spine myself)
(bunnies that glow in the dark)
(its slice against the night
which freezes
the water many of us centered
our bodies communing a bridge a kiss
a hiss or just after
Dark Chocolate Brown
a hiss or just after I thrash
with caffeine and sunburn. I am thin)
(clumsy whisky sloshes at me I was
less than one life span long magenta can only be magenta)

Third Iteration

your rancors whet my bidding
terror I whisper
trick a not
broom-fled mule taint-tried rabbits

Pink Puffy
Boy do I believe you
Lime Green
Peach

Navy Blue
You are yellow
and studying to be a sex object.
You are the full wax yellow

fall
how steep
Light Yellow
how steep embodies the milk

tongue. The Red buds feel true.
Three dry martinis. Spit pimiento
melts a gash in the ice outside. Drown
you are yellow

bending sour after the fact
simple we both answer
when asked would you date
someone who stalls

out of his posing speedo
back the sound staggers water’s strange machine
along unkempt’s preen of sleep lay flute-drawn
where petals boxcar your eyelids a fly scrubs its hindlegs tripodic

leaving blown glass remarks
the kiss of Sundays like soap
in the mouth the good idea turns bad and foams
the seconds threaten

a place, it’s a lifestyle.
You are brave
druff, but I hunt to eat your whips.
When I brought you a lemon you claimed

latches smashed quick and unpredictable upon me
when I fell dawn through trees in love
stampeded against tongues of lather was snow
packed tight in your iris your brown eyes that

the piglets scrutiny her breasts deliberate swollen gestures
chocolate cake and cigarettes in no particular order
crown down at the lip of the underground well
the architecture of which no one knows

changing their clovers shone man at me
and it could never have happened had any of us ever been aware
of that we were not so caught so as not to collect your hearts
Pink

in the mouse facility
my callous is growing worried
I rush hours to taste the pears of your eyes
what just sent ribbons of pain into me

your anchors sweat my lidding quietly in a wash a hungry eclipse spinning
scraps of earwig toes and knuckles where unrequited becomes crepes of
wing rung with arching
terror I wipe a seeding awful many ellipse

its tin ribs again
us and me and memory
words bedded
minnows guys with lightbright teeth

open shops together
a class eight times the regular number
dice dropped multiple times for what reason
why chance once you’re pickled

my organ music and frequent showers
or doors the color of your jaw installed along my cheek
wearing me like icewater to let in the most
answers

bloom-fed mules paint-blind rabbits
pick a knot
error I whisker
your anchors sweat my lidding

a seashell amplifies feet having never dropped their trope
clumsy whisky sloshes at me I was
less than one life span long magenta can only be magenta
only one let’s play our zwischens again lets’

but here’s your chance to blind
the mosquitoes your friar the brazen

crepes of wing rung arching
terror I ripe a seeding awful

a wary arrow everyone is playing an angle I could never apologize for
a bad smell becoming even worse when you realize molecules

are going into your body short and frothy
time created here by opening and closing every auditorium door

her way slowly you never
told me much about marriage

Carved unsure and sweet
the shore describes itself
notes the gnat obliquely

crepes of tear-wings
I spine myself
pageant-round habits

to collect your hearts
One body-building magazine showed a man
penis skewing hard orange nosing

caught almost but warmly jacking
a seeded mangy ellipse
chiming as moonsore chiclets

Black
the seconds threaten from the beaches of your eyes
using the orgasm lever the arm is an extension of the brain

mice warm up cages for we can make one another
bunnies that glow in the dark
green apples I don’t wish were red

beside dawn through trees’
nightmarish heroics
hoes and buckles hung with arching

is your mind a host of friends a honey toast milk almond condition
I would make wax paper puppets
the brass bold light

it hurt to transluce. Track down sundial language
a chrysalis never watered. Pollen’s brisk
encaustic light.

mothless light. If they’re pebbles
and not pimiento?
One question, two answers.

we can only fall into too pale skin
sharp Adam’s apples may have been tempted
did knowledge get stuck in a man’s throat

because of the prophecy
“Last winter the birds dropped frozen colorblind”
a giant seacastle in the distance, so white

you ain’t never again a cuke
pearls whisk heat from the skin
the soft brown dying your eyes create in me twinge suckling beginnings of a

Red
and life smells skewed my pulse
is the ribbon my body pulls from you

your anchors sweat my lidding
quietly in a wash a hungry eclipse
spine-fed scraps of earwig toes

I feel along me like brushgrass. I see that you are doing well in your lessons.
You are the bell I think we should
crack together. It’s not

mice the way their small bladders would empty white snaps later
bridges I ruined
and life smells skewed

of water waiting sunglasses and gin
in the morning plenty of it creates a long wire
projection memory is on a track she eats

One: sodium
phosphate, mostly.
Two: salt and vinegar on a sore

even the sun has trouble hitting it.
and the fruiting body unfolds I woke my pillow
with the smell of fermentation budding alcoholism

wet cane and snowmelt

singeing, mothing between us

it had been so long my cum the yellow of snot I ejaculated in your

ending sour after the fact

I ask my mirror reflection if we can’t make

Light Pink

Tripodic

White

because of the prophecy

I ate unashamed the minnows

speaking their speak against the cold playground. I would

sort and pick. There would be so many tire swings

and knuckles where unrequited becomes

a commitment on the body the head

so simple stalls against your nape so often

A narcotic,

of you last night when a spoonful filled my apartment

Boy do I believe you.

the way I can still smell isofluorane from when I had to cervically dislocate

the friar realizing his error that it was only that she had hid

my pulse a cup a pointer apologize remember the best way

teeth apart sex? spiritual compilation. It can be pointed. I am a wheelbarrow

like aversion to stockings


we’ll always survive, our rubber hammers
smeared along her eyelids like a bitch
of little spheres set to sing
of the dress’s dance
Along flute-drawn sleep
mouths in which we pour
the brambles mending their
if icicles when asked not of color but feeling
snap my knee my leg my crashdown crawfish applicate juices.
Poetry: It’s an auction off
the lamb along
mascara, it was a poultice and
wearing me like icewater to let in most
quietly and I could
arouse my body sympathetic love a drippler dripping
a crowd. I know spinning enough
under glass stallions
You may influence

low left hand affluence. You are milks that haven’t been invented darling
I din’t believe um I sat right now on my tush tush and crahed.
were you wrapping your voices in creams.
not for us yet tight against my skull I can feel is nothing
on its hindlegs, lover are you
unkempt’s tripling
like icewater to moat
It chases me from inside
caught almost but calmly tacking
pieces that first test and contain rigid objects
don’t I see you there a few hours later?
if Ted ever comes by with a fork
as if to escape its ribs, flexible,
flapping frequently against my sense of design
under the hinges of movie theaters
to trip up stairs and our lovers’ bodies
and many of us had sticky feet
I rachet. Down the busy street I take my body I choose to
laminate. They toke the wind. If if could come on
in the way a hubby boo boo increases ad infinitum
tense would conglomerate only in the past, only by way
of organ music and frequent showers
Mooring
Tongues of lather
these branches aren’t for securing a dam
On another wash stampeded against aim
our centaur dries
in a bed of gutter
Earth is the only eye in a larger scheme
in season, I sling your drift
to that maple tree, allowance, little
pieces that contain rigid objects
influence the darning eggs I only kept in the hopes that you’d be back

Water’s strange machine
it chases me from inside
the wall of desire, I’m stuck here wriggles of wine trial my lips
your scentway dries
Anne Carson’s flowers’ pulse.
I keep them closed though wrens try to wrench them
Rivers away from being silent together
Orange
of movement the red jay tramples
its predecessors were. Don’t they brilliant
then grasp
all my nerves, decay of the boyfriend, other effluvia
register timpani tongues
none us touched even
lowest left hand influence. You are milks that haven’t been invented darling
in German is Blutenstaub
I sat down snap down my hearing wasted on badding news
or origami necklaces do you think
she was ugly but it happened
tongues eliding stickly prick
gray not in color but feeling.

the shelf it’s simply shoved against
the air with sails, don’t they through
your skin
color pickling
Another gray greening
having seen the night grim ace
moisturizer your face in an embrace with mine our corseted mouths and
jacks advertising themselves as red
I get wanting to clover your eyelids
of spring, I sling into your season, I five-petal you to drift
stir whorls and raisinettes left
when the characters are leathering
machining at boon-poor triplets
a seashell’s amps a map
recoils crowding around me like lit pages I stain so healthily
that it was only that she had Cheezits
Tell the senders no matter how rough the prerogative
my phone is crying drown tears and I cain’t believe it won’t
believe because believe it or not Mississippi was my love
a needed hungry eclipse
were you wrapping your voice in creams
lowest left hand influence. You are milks that haven’t been invented darling
a garage door kick sour mouths
tho he never know it my love is so embarrassing my diary even
I sat down dead drunk small cold and absolutely broke
when are the characters leather
the snake reflective surface
grief ever leaves or does it just forget

You remember the best way to get a hold of me is by pouring gunk in my
smiles
grandstands up on my skin
ah would you date
someone soaking in vinegar
the pollen in mind
and crahed. Pineapples makin out cain’t help me feel a sound
on and on and on my pulse.
cloth angels’ fashions draw
a bin of winks all fluttery
your mouth moved
many tires
then stood stanchion still against my motives
swing their speak against the playground
yet tight against my skull I can feel their influence.
my acne a salute
laminate the wind
with sails
the silver sing of your back
a molten poison
brilliant
the blood frees
into your body the serial
which has specifically parted as if
that the future and present
take my left hand and influence me into those milkbrown eggs
warm oatmeal
My pulse is
nothing like a houseboy

You are a cup and a rigid sinner
of the tire swing that sold itself short when it really wanted to find out where
John Montana’s literary magazine was wondering if you’d like to donate
Anne Carson’s influence
We’re having a fundraiser on Friday, October store.
The schoolyard isn’t very green compared
3 gay men, ages 38, 27 and 23, gather to write an imaginary poem:
I know myself against your dirty trail
happen on a fly
I think of dust how perfumes
a quince tree whistles
itself and then remember water on a beach even in this running
clipped by paired barettes
be questioning my own motives, sent through the future
articulated a hard on pink
hair isn’t that right
The friar realized his error,
all the exercises stand stanchion still and silently
backsongs when I scarred many of us

a hiss or just after I thrash
open to the wings of sun and wingspun
solitude oh there it was it was
a hiss or just after
a cotillion stem
carries out lust
at the bugle festival in a certain morning barn, door
having been
soaking in vinegar a bin of winks all fluttery
wrens try to work on
salt like a fist which anyone could have written
your stunning kingdom by the sea

when I scarred the backsongs we were meant to show
it was a heroin chic the opposite
Violet is not a color you can hide
my smile your black jaw installed along my cheek
our bodies communing a bridge a kiss
I spin myself
both treble and windy gimlet
is a neck of crows how many depends on
Something tight, bitchy and twisted I appropriate,
how many of those are willing to sprint
water accompanies us in and out
all those kitchenettes stuck in her hair

I ask myself about stairs, especially
behind the way peach is, the way language is
scraps of earwig
I hid like a milk tight snake in the morning
against a swift window a trickle
which freezes
its slice against the night
pheasants chill to feel warm after
a marigold river which tries
all the swatted images all the debonair
toes and knuckles rung with marching
it does not memorize.

the shelf it’s simply sliced against
the way a house is swift
the water many of us centered
houses birds,
anything grabbing at praise
pageant-hound grabbits
an outsider and insider as through a sieve
brambles against your nape so often
A pink wart beneath my lowest
sprouts we collided a short tender
constant let it stand
of took and it created for me, you
if human fourteen if a giant
bread warmer basket
among giants windows

A room of purple and white flowers.
They will not apologize.
and in it so many milks milks that haven’t been invented darling not for us
pretty please pie it was dunk a mother
fairground and she really was
a ceiling so long anticipated
I plucked from my nails
shin brackets asleep
calyxes of dentistry
you taught me to love
my dead hunger.
nothing spearmint like life
But had error ever been
what we’ve created apparently here we
said in a circular fashion
birds a rotation of body and shirked sand many of us
against gratis perfumes whirl
with caffeine and sunburn. I am thin
as a tempter. Bees make their own.
or imagination I tell you
it was both
Brown
it was both the flapping paper the brown
gray not in color but feeling the rasp
a reptile
they will not
You are a cup and a rigid sinner

ever been aware of what we were saying unless it was around someone we
loved and we remembered it not so caught almost but calmly jacking much
because we said it but because he was there when we did to collect your
hearts back the sound staggers water’s strange machine along unkempt’s
preen of sleep lay flute-drawn where petals boxcar your eyelids a fly scrubs
its hindlegs tripodic
with seasoning the head is a neck of crows three
articulate hard tines
tithing themselves
as if to escape ribs of
chasing me from inside
a spinning. Shroud, I know nougat
I ate unashamed the minnows
of you last night when a spoonful filled my apartment
of organ music and frequent showers
wearing my acne a salute a date that’s been
a gift certificate to fact. Also, I’m wondering if I can put up a poster for the
event in your This is a Raffle
corner of the store
Don’t be coy I know you have one Thank you
Dark Chocolate Brown
like a milk tight snake in the morning her tenderness
and now with high moon shaking she slacked eyelids like mint
kitchenettes and lost
Arkansas and Miss Sue both tole me Mississippi
is sleeping with Arkansas II believe it or not
they tole me Arkansas II and Mississippi and you know what
I appropriate 2 gray cats 4 crying hinds. Here we cast up, lips together,
to get a hold of me is by pouring gunk in my.
A room hair isn’t that right I am
fingered and in it so memorize.
A pink wart beneath a houseboy and a rigid sinner on
and on and on my knuckles their purple
they will not
It chases me from inside
out
which you call windmills
Light Purple
which you call windmills the beautiful napes of those
deprived of sleep pennies and nickels and chapter books
have you ever thought that someone looked like you and wondered
sadly if in a blackout you made pornography
everything through hiccups
your letters in my skin like miracles
left hand pointer finger knuckle.
many ellipse
Hot Pink
many ellipse water’s strange machine
along flute-drawn sleep
another gray greening
rivers away from being silent together
on another wash stampeded against
tongues of lather
“Nice cool day to be on the hill, isn’t it?”
I get wanting to clover your eyelids
Quietly and I could happen
On a fly on its hindlegs
Lover are you the lamb
Along unkempt’s leap
when I fell dawn through trees in love it stampeded against tongues of lather
was snow packed tight in your iris your brown eyes that changing their
clovers shone man at me and it could never have happened had any of us
landslidish heroines
swift windows and the marigold river that junctures the water cooler.
Your pick ground raisins
change color when they’re out
in a certain a.m. body,
a felt wing left sunning up a barn or jelly sandwich club
bugling, “We were meant to show young perfumes’ lids’
car. Smut memory this doesn’t have to be
like organ music and frequent showers
or doors the color of icewater to let in the most
icicles behind which we pour
miles of mending its
mouth in tatters
unkempt’s tripling leap tripodic
engines cleaning it had been so long my cum
the yellow of snot I ejaculated
in your moisturizer your face in with mine
a corset of mouths and tongues eliding stickity
prick consents to me
a ceiling whistles recognition taut transit
so long anticipated to cite the peacock
it could taste feathergreen thrumping
my mouthnose complex
smiles
mouth in tatters
away from customary crowns.
University of Myers’s local businesses. I can reach me at 717 576 5087 or
john1.myers@umontana.edu.
I’m affliction.