all girls git killed

•September 14, 2014 • Leave a Comment

in my nightmares lately
the coyotes do the electric slide
spit out my bones like splinters
giggling that my life’s a joke
the places I miss have next year under their belts
the eyes I can’t shut up about say check, please
& my grave will be a shitty tourist attraction
you’ll leave your wallet at home
but it’s okay because we’re good
& every Idaho trailer park is orange
an inferno screaming in tribute
I sit there alone, remembering
I never finished those letters
all those girls I thought I loved,
they keep getting lost in my head
next to the bleeding skunk on the freeway
ants crawling in v formation
& the radio’s only playing smooth jazz
& my smile is granite
my smile is actually Halley’s comet
I would burn your headboard
& lie to the officers about where I was last night
it’s funny — when people ask how I am
I just say living the dream

okay, stupid

•September 11, 2014 • Leave a Comment

I never went to medical school
the thought of a bin of limbs, severed
I’d rather just sit in a chair & listen to people
there’s gotta be one high school kid I can save
maybe I only want that
because I’m scared I died when I was 12
my dog lies beside me, gnawing on my shoe
she’s shaking hard, too, like she’s caught in heavy wind
in Yellowstone I almost fell off a cliff
can’t trust the air up there, can’t trust myself
& as much as I want to pretend, the body can’t forgive
the body can’t sing praise or give a third chance
the second is nothing more than black smoke, huh
I loved washing the dishes as a kid
fading into the butchery
of all the clattering metal blades
it felt as crystalline as a mountaintop

gable & monroe a.d.

•September 11, 2014 • Leave a Comment

I walked home from a bar last night
& saw a poster that said trust me,
I’m a Scientologist, & I realized
I was actually holding my breath
while trying to sing the alphabet
backwards, in case a cop forced me
to stop walking before I hurt someone
at the bar, people were talking a lot
of shit they barely cared about
& I felt whole
& I ran up to the room with the pool table
& sang the alphabet out loud
to the tune of die die my darling
& then I yelled fuck yeah glenn
before stepping outside
hunting for my pillow

the mudroom.

•September 11, 2014 • Leave a Comment

we have a new rule
no yoga in the house
definitely no sweatpants
and no shoes after 2 am
it doesn’t really matter
I don’t have any bones
& you haven’t been in my house
to be fair, I’ve only lived here
for one day, & one day
only maybe I can pretend
you will shine through
my curtains in the evening
my atoms are a storm
this town is a pirate ship
& my neighbor todd is a drunk
but the good kind
who takes his car apart
wearing a greasy shirt and bare feet
& then looks at me while laughing
I don’t even remember
where any of this shit goes
I like to laugh with him
because I could say the same
about everyone who’s ever loved me

scorpions, dear

•September 11, 2014 • Leave a Comment

it hasn’t rained in Portland
your eyes are a glint off the blue line
& I’m walking up my front steps
the beer in my hand is night falling
it reminds me of your feet, cold
and stretching out beneath our blankets
on a dusty morning last week
I suddenly kicked on, came alive
the scorch of going without, no, of thirst
in our love you were a tree sprouting from clay
& back then I was a cracked book, losing pages
staring out a window into meadowlands
the corn was everywhere, honestly
& you, not so much, but who’s to blame
for that little indecency
I could laugh for days
& still not scratch the surface
of that carnival, that tidal wave
your hands on mine

Ways Not to Use the Internet, #1

•July 26, 2014 • Leave a Comment

- re: buffering videos

throw a tortoise shell at your screen
to shame your connection. try hard
because you’ve never succeeded.
you are a little kid, kicking in the ocean,
calling out to someone, anyone really.
these creeping seconds like falling
glass, like drowning. a throat full of knots.
accept that you screamed your way through
the end, “this isn’t happening. please.”

eulogy for titan, in early spring

•May 11, 2014 • Leave a Comment

since childhood, birds have called me
bastard. ruiner. I have written stories
where I crush them, stab them, worship
the carnage. “no love lost” would be a lie,

here. today, in the afternoon’s quiet
fading, I came in from the ruthless heat.
the kind that sticks to you like a cough
or like the guilt of murdering someone
in a daydream, with a hammer, with a smile.

heading out to my fire escape to drink,
I remembered the first time my father lied:
“you can’t play outside. our world
blossoms like a firebomb, full
of lonely & skeletal animals
everywhere, waiting to steal you.”

I opened the door, was nervous, & lost
every bit of my voice. all I could see
beneath me, your distorted outline —
barely hidden by the shield that had failed you.

your eyes were easy to spot: black droplets
in a mess of pink & light blue, pieces of hell
stolen from the pit itself. you were a gift
someone just forgot to open. your heart,
a puzzle I would have to eat whole
to solve. would have to smother

to save the day.
here I am now, writing
how I buried you. yes,
how I feared the blood
to be my own.


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