the rushing of the blood in the stream


fuck up the city fathers real good

where I am the heroic Builder


shouldn’t kiss the shit-eater

“loosen strings,” from across the void


she is a magician with her vagina

who can tolerate the moody blues?


Soundtrack to suburban misery? No thanks

your expectations didn’t fall—they were pushed


the rumbling on the tea / water boil

sideburns I imagine cutting square lines in my face


grunts grunt grunt jobs “goodbye”

a preposition I end on.


Electrical outlets are anthropomorphic

a collection of sentimental verse


hammering nails you together

humanity’s coming of age brings cataclysmic change


black black leaves

I’m crying over you & you & you


spatially configured peace & headspace…

so find the Word that is revelatory.


She whispered me a boring secret

every night I get paid to turn into a moth





form a square as much as you can


Zorn blows a mean horn.

She said slowly


textile text: how I left Polly Esther & went back to Blue Jean

he could perceive a subtle hangover.


& that’s the story of how the time was made fruitful

shit fire & save matches


let’s write a new ballad for Ira Hayes

& curse the powdered shit


the title is “a massacre”

hail the noble qualities of canned milk


I wish him well enough alone

toward a radicalization of political literacy


see if they had the ability to maintain commitment like that

sad clown runs away from the circus


I’m too young to get old

I’m tired of working & I want to play


it’s good leverage

“every day is the day of something” —b.


darker than the inside of a cow

go ahead & ruin your health with overwork


put your hand in the hornet’s nest & tell me which one stung you

listen, & it will be spoken to you