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can't stop dreaming
about
hard candies,
their shapes    
under pocket linen

i dream i'm in
a competition,
need to perform
a dolly parton song

paint on red lips
to attract
humming-birds and
soft beard fur

mirror

[via]

and it winters

today i think my soul is boiling

everyone huddles over fire and electrics

i am incandescent

the only relief is evaporation

bare screaming skin to the ice wind

ascend as diaphanous steam

worry small pebbles in your palm

work, work in numb bursts
blast above the grip
of muggy mind-atmosphere,
flutter repeatedly to social media
release calculated distress calls
disguised as wit and triumph,
fantasize of letting your head rest     but you know
once it gets there that it'll just be stuffed
all in your foggy arm-folds and smelling the desk smell,
and you will not have disappeared.

spend concentrated hours
jamming grenade pins into various fruits
beat your fists sharply against your
largest muscle groups for the sweet
narcotic pain-spread

consider your blood a lot
consider tattoos of tigers
consider cheap tickets
consider fine cigarettes

chase the sleepy bliss hours
where you can harbor but not
disembark

good-bye dear leader

we have all been granted
the divine blessing
of tickets to heartbreak hotel.

eight hundred thousand swallows
rain seed pearl spheres
on deserving schoolgirls
and technology workers
dancing in linen and
immaculate cooperation.

my breast is an empty bowl
i beat to the rhythm of their ribbons.
we are howling a grief
we are stronger than ever for the
tide of dark forces at our gates.
but please, don't ask any
uncomfortable questions.

capitalist, dog,
if you don't fit you must
hammer yourself into the script.

[via]

powerful healing spell

i walk with all these limps

my boyfriend is a centaur with charlize theron's torso,
a creamy dappled stallion body

i braid flowers in his mane and ride him
in my hero parade

tire tier

today i am
a small robot sick with rabies
feebly sweeping litter and
blubbering rustily under
mineral encrustations.
take it from me.
these bicycle chains
whip around the gears,
bystanders laughing
and throwing heads of
lettus to shred on my
exposed metal parts.
we are making a slaw.
i am the essence of the party.
we're talking shop sounds,
shank my talk box,
shut me, ow.
set my tracks
to the precipice
for a laugh,
exhaust
sucking
one more mug
to make a shine

brain purifying mechanism

sorry about the font.

thinspo

i wish i knew who did this to credit them (i do not).

some dec. words

i never knew how easy it would be
to become an affectation,
tit for tat

do you notice how carefully
i am half an expert and half a fool

i worry my truest self might be in
the moments when my rage escapes.
i realize now that the toe was broken
and that you should not brutally kick
moving vehicles,
even if they are driven by total bitches.

i walked on it for blocks
with a poker face, ashamed
like i always am of anger,
though not of being angry
which is just comedy
like everything

i get too angry at strangers
when they are inconsiderate,
or cruel, i think that is the thing
i get most angry about.

___

i did not eat lamb as a child,
but i do now.
it feels more honest to eat pigs,
they are more like us, with sturdy
recognizable bones. how familiar,
and appropriate

when i was a child i ate beef
and spaghetti. the dogs ate
hollow bird bones. one day
i wore a lime-green gold glitter tiger sweatshirt
and ran accidentally into the electric fence,
it made a black line on the tiger
and a red line on me
__

i can't seem to write without swerving embarrassingly down tributaries of mental anguish. i want my writing to be more like a joke but it spills out of me all flowery and sensory and earnest, and it only wants to re-hash every heart-break and deep slips into abysses from which i emerged scarred and sharp-eyed.

i never could separate the poeming from my selfness, and this is where i have struggled most in the academic/professional/social poetry world. i am not claiming to be unique, this sounds pretty normal now that i type it. i do the writing like this because it's how i come out, it's the frequency i vibrate to. i'm not so great. i want to try and i want to want to try.

i need to keep increasing my vocabulary. these wet december days make my existence dementedly crepuscular. i actually think i am pretty strong/nice/good to be around. i have always liked feeling strong. i have always had very strong legs for kicking soccer balls but i am just now learning how to punch. i am doing push-ups. i want to be stronger. i want to be faster. i want to be smaller. a modern machine.

i want to be embettered. most of my inner monologue is literally self-abuse and i am trying to say nicer things to myself. i should probably stop trying to explain myself. i think maybe i have a fetish where i like to assume other people are interested in me explaining myself. i want to get on planes that take me across the world and back. i want to be friends. i want to know how to make friends when i can't seem to act unless invited. i want to write poems that make you love me, and make you feel loved. i want to maintain enough flaws to never feel paved-over. i want to think/feel like an animal.

miss attribution learns how to let go

what did you learn about cells
how did your burns heal
why does it all doppler

close your eyes and
take a tour of every place you've lived

don't be afraid
of me or anything

at land, soldier

it's always a shore
where you find yourself
borne here maybe

bury half my head in
lukewarm gray sand while
snuffling blind sea mammals
nudge my sides, whisker the flesh
of my hips, rush salty wet air
in my exposed blue blinking eye

i could thrash til i burrow under,
soak, logged, and with this pressure
be ushered away as bits,
as grains in wee mandibles

i could just begin with i love,
i could just let these gulls take my eyes
and i could climb, could say
remember the first time you broke
along the fault lines, called it art,
could feel a fear of cold

call an eagle down to carry me,
bring me dinner, feed me meat,
you could ring my bell, bell,
my belly knows its grip;
i'm tired of throwing it up,
my guts all fluttering sore tatters

a bluff, i fold,
this is just a demonstrative iteration,
a dualness and hunger that chugs along
like dawns, warms my ice teeth,
quells my eruption some

here on this mountain
i have always been
your smiling oracle,
beseeching, seek me