Viewing entries tagged


i.               future ghosts


with immediate provocations


ii.             audial voyeurism


beneath the sheath

of chosen sanctity


iii.           suppressing horror

as is done,

when snakeskin

is found

as leaf


iv.             tallied gashes


in neon lights

across the cortex


v.              eyes imbalance

searching for light

from foreign shapes,

to varying peaks

meditation on a smile in adrienne rich

“’[t]he only real love [i] have ever felt

was for children and other women.

[e]verything else was lust, pity,

self-hatred, pity, lust.’“

the phenomenology of anger, part 9




there’s something: you should know,

there’s something i just found

in the bottom of my backpack

in worn-out maggot threads

sprinkled in harsher textures,

crinkled memories

faded deposits

to be shaken out

in a hurry


one day soon


maybe they’ll wash away

in a monsoon

while i’m gone

and my pack can feel light with the worry,

and you’re done; and i’m gone


—redemption is only the slime

barely discernible, hidden in smiles

how do you swim in a paradox?

keen for a floss with contempt?


not at all aboard—

you buoyant—

stop feeling absurd

get off the phone

try another finger


you’ve been in that pack a few thousand years

in the waterproof

hands we keep forcing

to sew


in the under

of a filth

on which she was first

slapped to air


now i see you in your dirty abode, my dirty abode

musty in yellow

deformed as only you could


and i know, i fucking finally know:

i ran out of the pity

set special aside

for the sounds you make

the vernacular you climb and slide along

not large enough to hide beneath


there’s no lust on chapped memories,

and a smile is all i can plug.


just as self-hatred realizes itself in the bloodstains


gauze and gaze, gauze and gaze


thinly decorate the cycle:

the mirror, the only,

we know.

skeltonic summer

she only greets

resounding beats;

grains, in the sheets,

emptied in streets;

some in totes—

baseless gloats

with powdered notes

—blackened, most;

the feeling’s toast;

returned, but roast

far from the coast,

can no longer post;

skin is itchy

scabbing to bitchy;

weekend laundry,

come back gauntly

jaundice, jauntily 

fresh from the sea

—sweat and algae.


unthinkingly parting

the colored skin,

same as her nipples,

still bordered with drugs-

tore twelve hour gloss

the small circle collecting tobacco

on the bottom: 

006 pin up red


dragon puffing last

night’s smoke

menthol flew away

with her dreams of pine

the throaty stench

of dry

tongue screeches on her buds



physical form to taste upon entry

—down right normal

corporeal contact with taste

on this morning—can he


tighten the grip


they’ve heard souls and soles

from time to time

become worn out; it is in the literature—

not the curious kind on cheap paper, folded expertly

as if reincarnated from naughty origami,

lightly stamped in subpar typeface, polylinguistic warrantees


they’ve seen abominations

but found gendered gods in every place;

baffled by the lack of sacred, in some

threadbare configurations

haunting domestic thresholds

they found

the most curious of all:


straddling a spectrum

of size, make, model, color

bare or hardly visible

were the keepers,

somewhere near the door


and to which of these səʊls

do they account

for all the fleshy floors

left beneath

all left behind?