Crush

    My version of her that was in the snow. My feeling for the piles of snow as I tripped on a blue sky. My sense of being crushed by a crush that made me crush myself into shape for her, flea-bitten & tenacious. What tenacity of my arms around her as snow fell on the tiny town in the dark. My light within darkness. My drifting in her.

    Breathless in the hypnotic her arms all over me like Venus. The tiny town in her eyes will be set on fire tonight as the villagers flee screaming. Imagine myself standing still under the big golden lights realizing just how small I am. It'll be a cold day in hell tonight. Lawn flamingoes will be reduced to marshmallows. Bees will crawl across the molten marigolds and'll feel helpless because I want her. There are never enough socks. I will romp club- and bare-footed over coals for her even. Ever get the feeling that somehow everything's prefabricated? If I have one what name should I give to my other?

Crystal Cave

    What shape my longing, she said. I said it looks like a crystal cave with dusk happening outside like a thousand purple rainbows. How deep my longing, she said. I said it's as deep as the collective souls of a thousand Buddhist monks ascending to a yellow sunlit Void. What is known about longing, she said. I said, not much.

    The heft and tusks of it. Longing. I went blue to feel all of the units that you've kept inside. The weight. I went inside unknowing and eyeless and came out the other side pure moon. Spooning reunions, oh! Is anything given? I've caught the one true idea in the webbing of my head. Once my father taught me to fold glove properly. The bastard. Look, my window, I am thinking spectacled.

Olde City

    Went to a sex dentist's weird art studio in excitement-prone Olde City. Went to a chicken Nazi souffle soup restaurant. I was looking for renaissance angels that were renaissance angels, and the fact that you are, in fact, underneath my skin, holding me like a stiff-cock'd rag doll. I found this to be as true as slanting sunlight's cast-iron heft.

    i found myself in you in all the blue smoke of chill dark. i'm tripping through Olde City stoned weird. i could feel you unfurling my cast-iron skin. you said "bleed" and i bled. a hop skip and a jump we into each other's telepathy and all fall down. and all fall down in the fact that we are true. i could feel it in the cloudiness of boning you. i knew. she knew. we knew.

The Stranger

    i pardoned myself from her eyes - winding sheets of love reflected in - consider blessed - consider fuck - slanting walked back through them - howdy! - and when you didn't know what it was you'd magnified it - the angels stood all three in single file mouths opened to an "o" - omg the other evening her bj paralyzed me - please tell me that you do indeed understand when i say "discord" know what i (LMAO) mean you dig? - *nudge nudge* ;) - ever considered yourself haunted? - if you've got it flaunt it is what her pa always said - behind your back nostradamus is pointing his finger at you giggling - here eyes her eyes come home eyes - eyes eyes eyes - the couple stood there glaring at each other the cashier threw up his hands good grief! - pardon me darling the kleenex amazon beckons - oh!

    WalMart Mozart riding in a go-cart. Slow down. Pick a side. Pick a dark angel in appliances section. Bone up on yr Wordsworth. Two extra packs of menthols from a man with a stungun. Check out to the left. Move up to the right. Day closing in. Night. In through the out door. Fool in the rain.

    Speed up - Nyquil angel riding a Wordsworth under clumsy sheets - if you've got it apply it flaunt it - the clapper's been very good to me now i am master over light and darkness - i am mayakovsky this semester - she digs my terrifyingly beautiful bass voice - pardon me darling your bj paralyzes your mouth is a stungun - i'm a stranger.

Mary Lou

    The suburbs overflow lonely murkiness in the streets around. claustrophobic the city's shutting shop closing its book the sky's falling and the clouds and clocks. strange for me but there's still time in the church of know secretly murmuring in all of the lights like an uninvited guest. Quiz me in the confessional if you'd like, I've memorized the cursive prayer of your thighs surrounding me. If only I could be the foreign groove your words speak.

    nothing to do. it's up to you. good morning. nothing to say. what a day. it's boring. no one to love, a lover. no one to fuck, a fucker. no limbs to drip a droplet. no hope to watch a starlet. awe. shit. you don't. fit. my skit. lick. clit.

    if she was what i hope she might be i'd read the starlet's claustrophobic book in cursive awe. she'd like to fuck in the confessional and would i? of course if reality might be prayer of her thighs murmuring cloudy vespers my way. a lover is an occupational hazard i'd do spewing foreign groove and shit fit 'cuz clit. when i wrestle with subtitles i almost always come out looking like a buffoon. somebody skill me or...

    let me go back to trader joe's. pick up. mini tacos. and her skirt. and narrate. the path. from thigh to thigh. and formulate. wriggle. on the wall. pinned and wriggling. and embedding. a goddamned narrative. inside her. like i tried to. in the pews. her name's mary lou. i fell to her earth. get out of my head. all of you.

Pulse

    The pulse up the neck. down her. The pulse down the spine. found her. the playing in tune. get her. the moon up in june. wet her. i am iambic to her line. so funky. met her on the dance floor. over drinks. drunken. took her home. sunken. boned. oh. oh. oh...

    I croon because the lightning pulsing through her feathers delights. I see her face superimposed on every woman's because desire's an odd thing to have it mambos. My saxophone she says does something to her like a spiritual douche it touches her super-special sundial. the music it pulses in her kool super-special sundial. She's the Pacific to my Atlantic ocean. I'll let myself out. I'll let myself back in 5 seconds later. my roman fingers are connected to greek hands and you let them. you let them because you want them because you watercolored with them in a previous life also spanked with them some other man that looked like me and probably was.

    The pulse in the pink. water. The pulse that I drink. Taught her. Here it was. Open. There I was. Groping. Rope-a-dope. Daughter. Give me more. Want her. Want her to get, down, settle. Want to her to feel, my, metal. Want to her to be, my power. Want her to cat, my, whiskers.

Maps

    i was duded out in a new suit. down new mexico. all to see my dad after ten years. i met her on the bus. it was bustin out all over. after we were done. i saw my dad. i saw he was nuthin. went back to her hut. shacked up.

    her lovely bread white naked whistle eyes were crystal-like. stares fell distracted and fluttered away. that i was a child once is inexcusable like a dead river and like me the tarantula maths the eclipse. my what mouth she had to be stoned stungun green and never chipped we were then strange to be with or go somewheres.

    i went to the bathroom. splashed my face. went down on her again. peach schnappes. opened up. dried apricot. oh don't squeal. if you must. let me bust a nut first. inside there. where dank. pink/green/red. there's sand. outside the door. old indian lore. shaman's blues. sundance. we do it.

    i wanted to take the place of waldo. we did it. splashed my apricot all over the place. oh don't squeal. what mouth. i saw lovely inexcusable eclipse. did you find all the letters of the alphabet hiding in my wallet-sized photo? in you. cartoon. was so sick with this. i wanted to put you in a movie. twisted for me. o flesh! the world-weary stuff unrolled everywhere like a celestial rash of maps.