Tiger Trees

I saw your cursive name get drawn

Its pinking tendrils blanket my lawn

Its whipping q’s spell, “I want you to believe my name”

You’re tiger tree branch and I’m the leaves

Your roaring cataracts are not believed

I’ve got six friends

I wish that they could see your name

And they don’t.



17 is the whole world

In my room, The Smiths and girls

Phantom friends, their shadow shapes

A secret hallway on audio tape

And I want to be friends with you

Family is fast asleep

Our parents fought and now they speak

Our brains are young and see through walls

Our brains are young in secret halls

And I want to be friends with you


Expression Of –

Richard thinks he ripped a hole in me and one in you too

Frightened bright thinks you should feel alone

He should stay home

Mechanistic mutilator’s dream:

A tome in chrome.

Day sun/night sun, the coming of.

Day sun/night sun, expression of.

I don’t know how to wish good things for him and I don’t know what to do.


Imagining the Bodies –

Vito and Monique are down below

imagining the bodies

rotted and rising

Vito and Monique, our Calvinists

Beware below

Imagining the bodies

rotted and rising.


Skating with Girl

Girl skating, oh!

To conjure you in snow.

Six-foot ice sickle impales/in pails

and red rope liquorice entrails/in trails

Girl skating, oh!

To conjure you in snow.

Your stolen body asleep.

My frozen boundaries can’t keep.

You talk in parables in streaks

to all the idiots and creeps.



Aisha, do not focus on the ring.

Energy, romance racing through your jeans.

And down the hall, parents wishing they were dead

because someone somewhere put a promise in your head.

“Does it feel alright? How does it feel?”

Nailed to the floor.

Your ponytail goes on for days.

Forevermore, you’re lacerated, un-abstained.

Activity is enough

when activity is in love.

“Does it feel alright? How does it feel?”

These are my primitive feelings on sophisticated dealings.



Into the Arms

Your face, gay and fucked, creampuffed, and shut-up.

In rainbow bruise, in brain-dead nap, into the arms, onto the lap.

Your face, upside-down, scarecrow-traced, and hollowed out,

and filled back up

un-strutted stuff

where closet boys

cannot disrupt.

Come right out in soft clothes

In winter, it won’t to hurt come right out.

I don’t know.



Blank cassettes

erased effects

Your hooded head

I’ve never met

A broken mouth

I can’t explain

A blurry crest

with no name

Your hooded head

in the rain

Anonymous wrecks snapping new necks.

You’re just so and so.


Don’t Worry, You’re Prettier

Next door boy, next door boy

You will never move away

I’ll never have to trace your name.

No x 1000

Backwards bliss:

you will never drive and kiss

you will never grow and twist

you will always feel like this.

No x 1000



3D Voices

Open eyes up and do not walk with thee

Understand I understand my role:

and empty hole,

a bachelorette who always lets you go.

Action, action.

Touch my teething teeth and clutch my TV screen.

3D voices talking to me

Never wrong and never obscene.

But you’re a street maniac

with no mom or dad.



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