they followed her all the way down the cityway

i can’t believe length matters

or that anyone actually has the stamina to read

need to remind myself i’m the freak with attention span problems

why is it so much effort

and pain



rghhhhhhhhuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnn fuck it hurts

When people grab my neck with their gaze

And make me nod Yes as in agreement with their love and human nurture

They snap my neck the wrong way

And fuck does it hurt!

It’s dumb



I love you friends

To be here inane again

So some same fisting

It’s stiff, block E-Daytona never took off

And viewing the passersby

Two-time it: Window watching people pass while writing this

I love you I said

And no comma

Metacritical already

What level is that then

Who knows

I’m fucked

There’s a line drawn before me, after me, in between, down the line

A volley

A return of serve

A winner




I love this sport

It cares for me

This sport loves me

Why were we seperated?

Spell it gothic love

I.e. wright

Remember to forget


Make love stay toe-to-toe

Who knows what it’s all about chemical love bromance hit hut up cut up again my jawline with your knife

Kissing time

How rouge blockade



Love at first touch

So sensitive


I am so dehydrated

And we could break that phrase up

But we’re metacritical again

It’s so dumb

How do I fall into this trap

No wait pay attention to the reader it’s for them

Don’t insult!

We know you like doing that

Love bitch fuck slut cum dumpster someways some days never again stay in memory hit volley

This sport

This cantene

On the veranda

One window at a time

I asked for a large with the dryness in my breath when I asked for a cup of water

She didn’t hear the evaporation

Sense my lush skin

Kiss me on the eye ball


Never stay

Bromance cushion fuck her in the butt tell me why

Telephon Tel Aviv

tell someone off

my mastercard alawys stops working faster after the first purchase pin cushion cum dumpster of a finance system

who knew it

everyone knows it

i grow tired

i love you

excuse me

Not Doing This for Free Anymore

As if I had the power of a union

I’m realizing that pushing my poetry out for free

Is a sin and a crime against myself

My worth

I and my poetry are worth more than that

Your eyes

Might find my work

Somewhere behind a paywall


After I’m done writing it

After I figure out the cover art

When it’s on Amazon

Or in an indie shop

I’m not doing this for free anymore

You sluts

Recognize true art

And you secretly salivate at it

That it’s free

Oh the best things are free you say


Artists need money just like you sluts

So pay up

Fuckers sluts

Pay up

You’re all

So stupid

You have lost

Your Nature

You cannot see

Into the


Like I

Who am

At one




You don’t





You hurt me?

Why do you hurt me?

Why aren’t you in prison yet?

You narcissistic sadists







Why aren’t you




I wrote some bomb-ass poems today

But I’m also a bit drunkish

So like buy my book when the second or third one comes out

Not the second one, that’s shit (and not out yet)

Buy the third one

I don’t know what it’s called yet

But it’ll come out after the second one

The first one isn’t advertised well but it’s pretty trill


You say on the news on TV that drones were looking for terrorists in Iraq

Like they are the bad guy and just kill them

Like they are not human

And like you have never had a boisterous or “problem” child in your life

Like you don’t know what it means to care for someone who would rather you off dead

You, this, are a leader, and I can not respect you for that

Thoughts of disquietude and self-doubt adorn the halls where I walk on past the pillars strong and my meal for the breaking of the fast and the morn o’ double in the interior excellence past…

Wondering why they submitted to remorse. Wondering why.

They did that.

Please, ever, to know, that you were, here, in this way, sinning so righteously with the fervor of fire in your fist, forsaken lady, seems knowledgeable now, but did we ever know back then…

I submit myself as a specimen for the xperimenters. Come find me.

The world is too big. Empty. They get lost in the vacuum. No one is found. I rest alone.

Least of all are any experiments run.

How to terminate the time. How prematurely do I bask. Stupid fool, me.

Fool me.

Why not.


Lesson being:

You can’t catch a fish if you’re drowning.

I submit myself humbly as your savant-sadist, to know pain and communicate it with you surreptitiously. I submit that we shall be interlocuters–no I don’t actually know what that word means–but that with diligent recourse–or that one–I shall be might! And righteous! And do pardon the potty break…

Beyond recompense, to forget saying you remembered meant so little to me, that at the time you were weeping on the kitchen floor, a wreck of bones with a knife and a candle. And in my memory imprinted in my dreams you did not get up for aeons, and I looked down on you. I looked down on you.

How to memorize the planet so that I might may go home. I could not decide, forgive me.

Remorse without recourse is a crime, of course. And yet, so little prosecution does find itself executed under the rule of law. How tragic, our social circumstances. How tragic, that he started it all in a garage.

They play plethora row-wary stymied misdemeanors and all such but no other one will know it but they. This is all learnable, is it not. It’s all classic, post-modern, indeed, it draws on multiple disciplines. But how do you know where I’m hiding? Ring the bell when the meal is over.

I’m hunting winter. Winter’s rife blankets and reflective coats over my surface. I will melt you, you better come down, boy. There’s a sluice–nope–in the breakenstance. It is overall, there, in my high place, without you. You had better come down, boy, the cups are full and need a drinkin’ with apple sauce and brandy high. Things fall, some whether or not you ask them to. This time I won’t, because I can’t see.

Roll on by…