DAY 5 – TYPED AN N AND YOUR NAME CAME UP

u can’t pry

how far the water falls 

flat / no depth perceived

a single third eye
wishing well means

every misplaced coin

for an I Hope

You Are Happy
regretting wrong means
the paradox of you

can have it / only if

you don’t need it

labradorite scabbed

scarab / excise me, I

just need to ventolin

fumble inhaler suck

an urgent raspy blessing. 

if you can’t close your eyes

with confidence you can’t

call it resting. / your naked tongue 

a holy text. burdensome 

and prone to mess. 
I’m saying I / know not to

wreck. / or at least better

than I should. the carbon

copies run our blood / the

photostat ink whiff is puce. 

the difference is from / come

on in & come in on. come

the fuck on / pls come back. 

I love / when violent skies. 
the ebullient bulbous. a fragment

of loud ass whisper. 

sat myself down / self-care is

conducting interrogation

with a bedside lamp.

Advertisements

DAY 4

NO ONE ACTUALLY KNOWS HOW TO USE MICROSOFT OUTLOOK

there is no WEEP in team but there is a MEAT we
create a timeline for healing with a KPI
jack-donaghy shouting SYNERGY and
you give yourself grief / being locked in the cubicle
sorrow is a vac-u-lock dong dock a
modular approach / methodical peeling
quick / what are the twelve safe sex uses
of saran wrap? how does one apply voodoo to
long-distance massages & skype substitutes?
it’s not skinning / if we’re smiling. / doesn’t
the word spitroast
get stuck in your teeth ?
leave me with the
creme fraiche. /// haven’t you
made yourself here
useful enough?

make yourself submerged
eggs. bed in benedict. aged
casks of alarm clocks and
other vibratory essences.
you are not squinting you
just slept a stupid amount.
your capillaries a
cranberry rustle. moth-
eden crumble. a shirt you
stole from her bottom drawer.
a Smart Whiteboard glitching
refusing erasing

DAY 3 – THEY SCREW RIGHT OFF AND ARE EASY TO CLEAN

sa sa sa is how hentai lesbians
hiss in pain. they say I miss. say you
’ll never be happy so go for it anyway.
not the lesson I wanted to learn.
use a reed diffuser to de-internalise
suffering. get a candle called Island Spa.
we don’t play rough any more with

the cow’s bells. I’m going to give
your teat a ring. have nothing
but oranges in my mouth. you
don’t want the stainless steel
but

in another story you
turn around. with your forearms
grasp the wheel. number 10.
which 1+0 becomes
number 1. numerology. it
is easy. know you’re bad
at math. you’re running in now
from the pitch like sweat
is free. like saltwater’s
holy. the day after I got
a stomach ache like grief
and blood between my sheets
even if it’s only number 17
of the cycle

DAY 2 – EVERYONE WANTS TO KNOW A SECRET

like seedless grapes are never
satisfied       I sieve the body erotic.
mash up our potato wounds like no one
deserves you / deserts you     you’re
the lone eclair on the sushi conveyor.
so what / if I’m allergic to this and this and
you’re environmentally-aloof and
sometimes I still think of getting you
matching cutlery
not for the earth just your ocd
your watchless wands,
your wasted hands
a measured fix of foolery
so what if I’m / afraid of hurting
?          mandarin doesn’t constrain
interpretation
of the referent
I can say anything unselfish
I really want to say
like surreptitious grape hands
over skin pulp peelin frappe
teabagged the qoo mascot
to show it ideas of ‘good’
are mutable

DAY 1 – GEMSTONES OF THE WORLD

three times we pressed the rose quartz
back      you twice I just the once
because you did              the cheap adhesive the only stone
what wouldn’t stay

nighttime she drops       a final click
and I leave her be
off the charts
like she wants

D says letting it be
means to work at it
constantly

in this you and I
cease to disagree

DAY 24 – SENSATION BUFFET CONSPIRACY

SENSATION BUFFET CONSPIRACY
you said last night you think I am magic.
& you have that inescapable purple in your aura,
pivoting like vonnegut’s wampeter, which is why
the animals are magnetically-drawn to you,
unlikely cult carp whisperer.we all eventually have to do psychic maintenance
so half-hour to midnight means walking
on elevated concrete roadside benches,
holding in hand that feeling of being sure
like lollipops in the mouth or stone bracelets,
like sitting crosslegged under the esplanade bridge.

someone but not me needs to paint
your bullock shoulders your nimble wrists
your inability to unplug from Real Life:
maybe it is because you want to be
a different height that you refuse to
allow short-circuits.
is this what they mean by industry?

binding your own wrists in neoprene cuffs,
you permit leather blindfolds that can’t cover the
quirk of your smirking mouth & your insistence
that your hard-on is good for at least something,

even if it is hanging dirty towels like
a criminal execution. your kisses are

a study in botany,
like things to be taken apart and examined
under bright lights and steel tweezers.
like the ball of your thumb is a thing
to be taken to heart.

even afterthoughts of you feel like
the uniform fuzz of carefully-shaved head,
firm touches, scented turquoise pineapple
crystalline and now I know

the sound of a three-hour telephone voice
is a tall glass of citrine, sea kelapa syrup
spread excruciating over the railwork system,
like a lapdance, like the fatigue carried in the
arched feet of someone who inhabits heels, like
trails of formic acid, like
busy, busy, busy.

I miss you
even when I am next to you,
you said,

and I took this as thundercloud omen,
storms wielding wet bargaining chips
but you’ve always loved finding the sublime
in the mundane and I’ve written so many
poems about marrying the divine and the
profane that we know we can find
both pedestrian and arcane in the
rain.

you said, I am afraid
we are only really good for each other in bed
but some good advice is do what you love.
stretch before dancing. and eat more broccoli
even if you don’t particularly like it. wax
lyrical about your mussels one more time.
buddy wakefield famous slam poet says
when you feel like stepping back from the mic,
step forward.

I am backing away very slowly now so
I don’t startle you. I am whispering to the carp
instead of teaching them foucault that it is
perfect to be afraid. that it is permitted to know
you are breathtaking in spite of yourself.
buddy says, stop fucking with the moon,
so I tell you, I’ll meet you on the green platform,
on the third floor, on the astral dimension
just above this one.