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gelatinous opening
dehydration of a pearl
boarding tiny boat
and touching me


born on the outside of an afterimage
the productivity scar
orbiting that corpse of his
the dead giants heart
held in her hands


haunting light;
light without knowing light
the silhouette of a god
writhing underneath the sheet


breathing, beating still;
and then extinguished still
aborting this vessel of bone
the light of day left unquestioned
more unsafe than the night


the way we support ourselves
do we really support ourselves?
drowning is doubtful itself now;
ad break wax masturbation scene


stale stench on my teeth tonight
“i am the sun!” she declares;
“i do not die when the darkness arrives”
electronic harp instrument held hostage
footsteps bounding quickly up the stairs


the way ive thought of her
as ive thought of nobody else
desperation expressed in gasp
dry exhale, a dry meeting
between tongue and teeth

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thumbing fabric feeling
one squirrel scaling the tree
bounding from branch to branch
another at the base of the bark
licking its lovely, stupid and twitching tail
not living in between the sun

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the last to feel any anguish
unidentified dying a silent death
with the very final beats of her heart
a rhythmic hum would fill the air
gently carried through the fading and flickering stone
to anybody else it would have blared
if it had any other ears to meet

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gargling synergies; fool waist
clumping malice trainer suckling scores deep
the way a standard vat would stay pillaging
a face clear, though reminiscent of the sun
red house, lighthouse, limousine
the pupil disparaging itself in lockstep
then a bastard death reigning dissimilar
while slaughter itself stays clean

monitoring a landscape of waste
fearful of something not there
how the sweat stains the echo
that burning, worrying twat taste
with two days all dolled up by prescriptions
that turned you into a bookshelf

six lives now where ive been forced to slither
on the stage where people suck on tiny furniture
down the blackened gullet of abdication
a jelly hair just like this
thick as the smoke of yesterday
a funeral as it was supposed to be

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gullet shield plaster in retrospective shuffling back into terrifying tweaks to spare perception.
rocket writer whirring both plant stems and steam, at full speed, locket whining bare-ass if a gun had a mind that dreamt itself so deep into time.
weekend whistling, unlike most whispers, used to bleed muscle shiner onto a swollen scam mosquito hum. ghosts in baby gloom packaging of brain matter as the hammer hums mildly.

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