merrily merrily merrily merrily



"The blinds are down, too. The fact that this happened does not bring on the destruction of science." -the feynman lectures on physics

"im the faithful as a bird dog type can't be devious" -katherine hepburn's character

"don't be mad at me, mom. you're my mom now." -rachael

i was inside a moving fun cage
i am trying to say to you
that i flipped over on purpose
that i held a handle that would ensure
my body its inversion.

i chuckled to myself every time
i saw the lake above me on the ground.
i'm trying to tell you
that it was good and i liked it.
can't explain.

my drafthorse nostrils fill with beer.
i want to be putting my hands in flotsam.
now i am.
"ow!" i say, while a couple folks around town
literally starve.

with people i love
i forget that the world is awful
and that humans cause damage
unless the person i love
is hurting me.

fix a text in the tender crotch of my arm.
here i am, weeping and gnashing fruit,
while the wood to do anything i want with
comes from trees.
plus the population is growing
bc millions of ppl go to work w/o poetry.
parents are for the most part not artists
but easily could be.


being escrivre.
getting a fever
out of the trees.
i kind of want a wife.

what is this a picture of.
the male saint's name feminized.
the female saint's body armor.
fluid filling her blisters until fire pops them.
can i join the society.
i bet i can.
i don't wanna.

i've got fingers, breasts, abdominals, knees, part of a head,
a soup of pouring warmth under the point-of-light mindset, letters, 
listen to her majesty's a pretty nice girl, stop there.
each part of my body, my blankets, your body, and my dream-tone
is made of a letter tile and when i move my elbow i spill a word.

i would like to be a surrogate mother.
i want to be impregnated by someone else’s love
and feel the life and pain of life
without the brain sleep of lust.

what i should have done is never had sex
become a surrogate mother
given birth
then never had sex
and written about nothing.

i feel nothing
moving in my belly.
i named this
before i started.

i hate sentences.
a stranger's puzzle bangle.
its a horse-man or a land form.
where one side does something
and you can guess the rest,
if you want, but nothing changes.

it takes a second for my tactile feed to become audible,
asking "why has the yolk in YOU stayed whole."

i took phonecalls in the middle of the night.
even if you didn’t wake up i told you.
i feed trampled nightcrawlers
out of my dirt
as they squirm blindly towards living girls.
that’s my calling.

if someone would just
hand me an oyster.
i'd be an empty vessel for people to project
decibels into.

i'm an idiot.
i just wished on a cookie because the box told me to,
and now i think it's really gonna happen.

let us ingest all the stairs with our face on accident.
before i can listen to Fred Hampton ask
there's a fucking jetdry commercial.

i feel terrible and ugly.
i feel unable to support the weight
of my stomach and internal clitoris.
this dings, says chris is talking to me.
i think, angry, WHO THE FUCK IS CHRIS?!?!
i feel distended by flammable gas.
because of chemical jewelry in my blood,
i have wanted to name a baby
since wednesday morning.

prepare for the past.
if we had kids, i raised them.
set them onto the sacrificial
launchpad. step on the launchpad.
that's what's happening.

the things i'm not doing but thinking about doing
could fill my life 30 times or more
even if i stopped working with childhood "disorders"
on behalf of a society that doesn't give a shit
that is: i hope i don't fuck up
being friends with you
because i'm shaking my ass
to 'don't cry' by deerhunter
imagining hanging out in a room with you
bent over on a piece of furniture.

sorry abt my attn span.

dude's all like 'i wanna hang out w you' in text.
i'm all like 'i intend to die for the people' in the mirror.
i'm gonna be asking for patience.

i cut a lime the wrong way only once.
i cut it every day.
clear is my sensitive belly button
and the skin on my fattest parts
getting cold first.

the suit im wearing
will be new tomorrow.
like, right now its just a can with worms inside.

we ate drugs and you wanted
everyone who wasn't there to be there.
god said we are
'both pieces of a fight puzzle'
but now we are being weird and thats fun
we are calling things by weird names.

it's scripted.
the script is what's pinning
the national melancholy on the weather
instead of the war.

how dangerous a wish room
for what is on the shelves of
this decade has one side of its clasp missing.
it's a turret. get in it and get dizzy.
not as an operator but as a place to sit.

pre-eminent female flower painter
amount of beautiful in my throat again gagging
me with a butterscotch.
i'm walking down the garden
wet face out.
wait i'm still in a huge block of marble
and every noise i make is sound flesh.
i'm toast. my gut crashes.
smear that on there.
tastes good.
im stuck in the gallery,
the dark in bread,
the light in glass,
asking why they put cathy of axel
back together for this picture.

why look to find deceits
behind the rock and the mist?
because people aren't like that
standing on a cliff in his symbolic hat.
removal of me from my life
creates the appearance of a slight vortex.
my voice doesn't suffer.

in thousands of lives,
i have been my tummy.
earlier in this life,
i thought people farmed orphans on purpose
and i adopted a fake one.

a new ghost is on the scene
and now the middle is out of me
on the bed pulling
frost off my chest.

you can't, mother soul,
get in me
through my regular door.

goo and bad
can stink the air.
my metalsalts mouth
doesn't care that much.

i dreamed that
a kid i work with
puked a lake
while i looked on
starting to go out
of my mind.

i had no memories
of being locked up,
so i don't know what
went down.
was the pale boy of me
crying colloids?
hot tea tears?
i will age like a man
and will "look more like a man" every year.
i have set "the greatest" to play the entire time.

i said i was gonna write a love poem
about trading every apartment i've rented
so hard
for something you make up.
i didn't do what i said.
is that why i'm gonna lose my yard?
haha like i have a yard to lose.

the love poems i'm writing
really hurt my feelings.
cold fireworks in my aft parts
and close up throat,
yellow disk dissolving slowly
between me and the air.

what if 'our life together' was something
other than blips.
i'm sure they are peonies
by the effect on me.
progress: i would no longer concentrate all my winds on a single hour of happiness,
even if it turns out that kind of shit is possible.

i have to learn to
really focus on doing the thing,
touch your face and look at it.
i repeat:
don't push the play button
don't bounce off the art
and out of this roofless jet.

the silent rehearsal before a baby talks.
it makes the world sound like
looking at a ransom note
that threatens to do MEAN THINGS.

i wonder:
who am i and what love causes me to
live hundreds of times again
after something blows me up.
i dont know what love is
but in scifi movies its when
two ppl are weird in the same way
for the same reason.

spraying orange oil
all over my neck by bending the peel.
heart thru arrow, somehow.

i made a collage in which i go to hell
as two chimps in a convertible holding.
i still feel ugly but now i like how i look.

mosquitos suck on the blood of the taxpayer.
i turn my head pain into a tooth i'm going to rip with.
wish i could grow that tusk,
and maybe eventually i will learn to take it out.
give the ivory back to the elephants, i say.
strength is to put pain somewhere else.

i've been "using all my teabags twice"
trying to live until it is snakes
filling his shirt
up the mountain with a heavy carving
i'm touched by 5,ooo years of light on a face
asking for nothing
if it can't have peace.

they say there's seven seas.
there's one sea.