three bags
sit
on this bench
sunlit
flies also
not on the bags
a tree, oak, long branches
reaches behind
ever lit also yellow sunlight
and
green-washed like salt blast
from water reefs
this greenish thing
i walk past
in a moment
thinking
“i am not here”

sure as fire my lover
reclines
and
the electricity pulsing through the grid
in the metal towers racing in a row

through the cut-low grass hills
trees on either side
like
an evergreen racing grid
pump the towns with light
as we read
aloud
the words to the song of our life
in time with the jets
singing
“i know a love
true
and
i know a love
strong”

we know…

and
like a saturday is coming
like
a fucking wall is caving
like all the rest
just easing into it
like
bricks
like who fucking cares?

me—
three bags sit

on the bench
in the summer
of my dreams
filled with rose petals
filled with candy
i left them there
without reason
no reason
i am beyond reason
really
almost
beyond reason
almost
really
i am
i was

Feverpitch

Feverpitch

in a feverpitch the note broke my eyes
so glassed
and in the kitchen i did the dishes very poorly
almost as if to say
to make this last
“i will prolong this”

my battle against time
my unmade bed
moans
so that if i must use these
things
again
they will go under the water
for
things are more useful
clean
like
dreaming
with my eyes closed and
open
either way
i am open

as in
opening
nonstop full-time
sleeping fuzz-faced
overage costs, ratios, house dollars
the build-up
counter tops, numbers, receipts in jars
calculators tick-tock tick-tocking
my body is counting itself
counting something
so many new
pieces ah, my lungs feel like
what
what ash is
on a still warm backyard summer fire
on strike
fresh-cut grass must feel like this
does it feel
no
burning embers like what that might feel like
to feel
i feel things and i apply metaphor i dunno why i do that
i don’t know how to explain my feelings
ever
so i write too much down talkmouth blahzzzrt
too much not enough
man

my nose is running
achoo
it feels like running
there’s so much energy in pain
and so much madness in energy
now this!

NOT doing something, so
feverpitch…

there’s no sense in
NOT talking
that should be so easy right
how much poison
really
how much extraction
before i’m better
before i say this
“i guess i had enough”

or YES!

and

OK THANKS! haha

that note rung so loud
it cracked our porcelain sky
and
it cracked bad pink clouds, goshawks circling
soon
i will put on my colored faces
and planting boots
and

i will go cast myself into the painted desert walls
and sycamore tree fuckery
plus no one but
the coyotes
say, man, say
these animals cannot read
but we remember what overwhelming
REALLY is captain?

…no?

well
a coyote’s cry echoes
& hopefully
one day
one last face full of tears
and cracked eyes
will drain simple lines
for a pool of howls
but
glowing
when that note breaks the spell
and
it’s curtains
to all things false
to all things sour
and
ill timed
in a feverpitch
for

a hope
i will be here for you, my love
always

on key

in the dusted halls

of

the infinite hours
feverpitched

and

cherrysour

Numbers

Numbers

Blitzed

all kinds of slow sad
My God
i remember being really pilled out
numb
the TV blew all this static at me about
WAR
because
WAR SELLS like POETRY likes WAR
fuck that

seriously

i was all pilled up
Medication Station
and this giant love
earth/air elemental
orange-juice-good
for me
and me
numb
her,
right beside me—
white walls

cotton sheets
asleep
and on the f’n TV
Just War Shit

numb

Blitzed

then

then