don’t let me ride the wave

i had tennis shoes i had your
ring on pinky on pediaylyte
gatorade swig swig i check
on you to say i believe in the
water & it’s easy to say
hello sweet hand or wrist
i’ve got you in my sugar mouth
i’m sorry i’m sorry
let’s move above
i lit my hair on
fire and the smell was
oh it was a death i can’t
control i smell the burnt
bones or matchsticks or
childish fire of cow its no
matter like when the phone
rang off the hook
cow will wail okay
it’s time and brunt and
iron forged
in my mother’s mouth
and so repeat

how to remain less dead longer

title after k. ziegler – she, a goddess
a letter to the aforementioned

dear k –

i started with my mouth. an obvious beginning, perhaps – but one riddled with closing more than opening & backing down more than breathing. it could be the eyes next or the ears, the heart & lungs yelling in my peripheral line. but i thought about legs so much more.

not because of where they bring you or how they exist in a static sense, but how they seem to move without thought behind them. it seems important to embrace this movement in a physical & well-being sense (as in: if i don’t keep moving, i’m stuck, like a shark, like a –)

but i think the real power being UN DEAD lies in the ability to wrestle with the robot. everyone has their own version of this self. mine’s in the legs. i suspect i am not alone. happy thoughts congregate.

if to be un-dead means to be the self in the fullest manner, then we must also confront what “full” means. it may be tragic to realize that is a totally subjective term, OR it may be liberating. i have to be honest when i write that i’m not sure where i fall in this. it is quite possible that “full” (like “happy” or “successful”) are concepts we battle with our whole lives — or at least after we realize we are impressionable beings — but maybe!

there is power in that impressionability — as in to say, if one knows they are being led, there’s a chance for that person to control the terms.

no matter what way, i love you.


if i said i loved you

you in your veins
you in this candle’s light
i will trace your skin with
a butterfly tip
& the way this feels
it feels like
it feels like
i think i met you before &
it was then you said
it’s all in yr hands

i believed this as
i should you
beautiful plant
beautiful roots
of a being

again this candle light & me
asking what it is to know a face

the ephemeral artery leading
from the thigh to the

this is your heart
& i’d like to be inside


this is your face
your face in a coffee stir
it’s not relevant if i drink coffee or if i don’t
but what is relevant is how i touch
your skin and i won’t lie that i was afraid
to traverse the back & the muscle there
the solitude residing behind vein
this was my mecca
but no — this was not my mecca
because this was my / my // my touch touch toy
but no — not a toy and i was
jubilant to find it this way
you beautiful man
who cared past the skin and the sinew
and me who cared for nothing but perhaps
the existence of some strength
how do we collide and how do we find
a point exclamation point
point of reference and this is colliding
your skin is as soft as i could ever expect
mine to be as in i’ve been told it’s soft as can be
chapped lips in the waiting
are they mine or yours i’ve examined them both
and found the same level of skin decay
we will not boast to be perfect nor
will we boast to be kind
but it seems we found each other’s eyes
in this strange time and i can’t look away

can anybody hear me

as a picture, so a poem
as your lips, so my brain
so my brain, so my brain
as a drink, so another
oh this hyper-reality, so oh so dis
connected or reconnected threeX over

do you suffer as i suffer?

blood, our blood, hoping it synchronic
as your picture, so my poem
as the ice melts, rapidly so grow

lip to stem, tongue&lip, bitten tooth, split lip brainwave, tongues waving & tooths splitting

do you wonder as i wonder?

the wonder is: jumping lolling whispering fleeing crying fighting being