act surprised

sure, i will take a bite of you, thanks,
a nibble with my morning toast.
only eat whole grain
but i don't mind real butter.
sometimes the grains
the ones that make you better for me
get all mixed up in your speech and take
bites out of me.
 i can taste the high fructose bullshit,
see it hear it beating through your chest
before you've even had a sip.

good thing i can read minds;
makes the snow-made-daylight nights
significantly more entertaining.
but i've said it before, i'd rather
have you read it to me.

About me.

so i'm sick of these suckers tellin'
me that I look like angelina
that I sound like regina
because fuck that might be true
but there ain't nobody here but me
and if you don't watch your back
I'll toss you a beat
 you can catch this melody

i got sick of bein' sick,
so I had to give the weed up
but the truth is that bein sober
always makes me a better singer
and the other truth is that drugs help
they make me want to write
'cause they make rainbows form in circles
'round your fingers, 'round your eyes.

and crazy people make pictures
out of the wings of butterflies,
but crazy people also tell me
that I can't read minds
I'll read yours like a picture book
if there are diamonds in those mines
 there isn't a question on this earth
whose answer I won't find.

all these people getting famous
when their words have already been used
all you are is a pair of pipes,
alone in your room, feeling blue
and I'm not sayin it didn't sound good
and I'm not sayin your words arent true
I'm just sick of seeing people sellin records
when they havent said a single thing new

I'm sick of thinking that the men here
are only here for the bitches
who sold their souls to Maybelline,
to the Abercrombie and Fitches.
And I'm sick of thinking that the bitches here
are only here for the dicks
that we spent a thousands years
fighting for this and it still
isn't gettin' fixed!

I'm sick of watching him stare
at her boobs when she spent the time on her hair.
I'm sick of puttin' on high-heeled shoes
when you motherfuckers don't notice or care
I'm sick of hearing excuses for all of the abuse
and it tortures me that the abusers now get to be my muse.

Ha. I keep on hearin' boys flow
'bout bewitchin' bitches with their dicks.
Here's what they don't know:
that mostly?
that shit makes me sick.

like defrosting chicken.

we should get up
already been up; already froze my tits off to get the mail
no you didn't, they're right here
nah these are my backup pair
.. and how come you never let me borrow 'em?
you can have the originals if you want
no i don't want those they're frozen
theyre fine. just leave em in the fridge over night.

the walls are transparent either way

living upstairs means you have
to walk past a bunch of people
to get back on the ground.
means you have to say things
the same old things
everyday. i despise everyday
i just want days.

    hellohowareyou
    ohyouknow, fine
    ki'mleavingnow
door crunch closed
forget to lock the door or maybe
you did and it doesn't matter anyway
because someone probably needs
to steal all that useless shit
before i make something dangerous with it.
or worse, if i ever make anything
that sounds good i don't
know what i'll do with myself.

today is a good day to jump off the roof.
i don't know why we don't do it more often
the crackle of kneecaps and broken footbones
better than speaking.

the shower is on. i'll run out now.
forget my eyes.
i become invisible
when i can't see

sunday: the best day for profanity.

i should end neither my poetry

nor my arguments like this. 

it isn't productive.

it isn't helpful. it doesn't

even feel ever as good as you'd 

think it would. 

still

fuck you.

some piece flew off your car once

then lived in your trunk. 

it now lies hopelessly on my floor.

dogs can't stand up in cars, 

i can't even sit in yours with out bouncing

off the passengerside door.

yet it's my fault your clutch is smoking.

suck it

chocolove for my darlings.

not a single car stopped for me today.
i didn't stop for them either.
the wheels on their sunday drives
and I on my sunday walk
went where the foothill wind steered me
and not a single car got in my way.
sometimes the lights changed
just in time for me to pass
 i'm convinced they can't see me.
It isn't healthy, Planet,
to continually convince me
I'm invincible.

she said to cut the daisy from my throat (II)

then throw it in the garden but the soil
isn't rich.
throw the preacher
down the stairwell and a comb
falls from his pocket. every hair
in place precisely, coins don't rattle.
(though dice do) instead they
stick to your bare feet so
you drop them, they ring in the
ceramic offering bowl. it's a sink,
really. don't ask where the pipes go.
they don't even tell God
that shit.

she said to cut the daisy from my throat

i stood up into the sky,

looked the moon straight in the eye

asked if she would 

come down for a minute.

took her silence as a no

asked if she would instead show 

me how she stays so bright

(night after night)

i sometimes pretend i'm the mermaid

in your third story apartment

maybe that's just an excuse to sing

maybe I'm just like you (with wings)

don't be offended but I'm

the firebird on your roof

letting the   sun rise set    fire to your room

having conversations with the moon.

but i swear, i could see her one

crooked eye open

when her lips parted, i 

swear her teeth were broken.

she said 

look at me, the sun

knocked me on my knees

there's nobody here

to listen to my pleas, please

help me up.

when she isn't being crowded

clouded over fogged through

she rocks above the mountains

blue looks good on you, 

darling.

pens bleed onto paper and it's all just so goddamned flammable.

it's a growing list of things
we maybe shouldn't do together
a mattress made of cactus:
makes me toss and turn
beats me midslumber.
when the list first began,
called "Everything."
drawing crooked lines
through old movie titles
writing spiky paths with our
footprints up mountains.
but between the shouldn'ts
and the dones, the thorns
that keep me awake are the
what-to-do-nexts and that they might
run out.

the wick burns short in both directions
and these metaphors are only
burning and bleeding us. i'll
drink to that, i'll sleep to that.

maybe you'll sleep easier then, too.

raced a herd of buffalo trees
clambering up the mountain
it would be so much easier to ride the
crumbling boulders back down it
humbling isn't it
tiny dinosaurs scatter:
wings the guise
and something roars
i say it was a squirrel
but fuck maybe he's
a dinosaur too.

they used to connect the stars
to tell stories or timing
i connected them, made a web
and it caught me off my footing

it is ears will make the world catch fire.
alright then, I'm listening.

angels I

it isn't a matter of believing, it's that
they don't exist.
yet you sleep on a cloud
nextdoor.
just in case
the rapture happens we will
not be left for dead without chocolate smiles.
we won't be left for dead because
Fuck Him,
i know what angels look like.
They don't have halos, but
sparkling eyelids and
a criminal record.

simplifying.

I can taste the tortilla chips clinging
to your shirt through my nose
as if such a vest of armor could hold up
broken with pureed tomatoes.
Sure Grandma would agree love
tastes like salsa.
make everything a cave
Chop peppers in it
  glow.
ten years from today i will either
wake up next to you
wake up next to not you
not wake up.

tomorrow's lunch

i made a grilled cheese sandwich for you
even though i knew you weren't coming over.
i'm pretty hungry; convenient you're not here.
it's Pam-ing through and cheesing to the pages of a
little blacknotebook where I scribble messages
for later.

i wrote a grilled cheese tonight. Suppose
i'll eat a poem tomorrow.

Struggling behind my closed eyes and 

resonating in the chamber of my skull, there 

is a low hum. Our suctioned lips

are separable thanks to the

rays that shoot from my irises

     they mostly look like eyelashes

         sometimes they hit my glasses.

this is why we will live in a cave.

the smell of your hair

and toothpaste are Mexico tonight.
evening tiles and rocking
chairs, chalk cockroach repellant.
I've never smelled a daffodil,
they don't grow here.

And something else, California.

I know that the first few times we met,
there were substances involved.
And i sat on a hotel bed and you
inched your elbows onto my knees,
my phone in someone else's drunk hands
getting all the names changed.
I didn't have your number then.
I wore blue and you wore red.

and the drops of music you sent me
they were dripping with beer and serotonin
smoked in glass and stained with
ash and paired with a fear of falling--
I listened and for a month the
chemicals that come natural to human ears
warmed my body at every drop.

I cant remember if we fucked or
made love but i do remember
the smell of your skin and that
for a few days i swam in it,
smiling.

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... so then what IS in it?

I just stumbled on a recipe for gluten-free, dairy-free macaroni and cheese.

I didn't read the recipe, but whatever that recipe yields does NOT deserve to be called mac n cheese.

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eating babies.

That's right, eat as many babies as you want. No calories. No fat. No guilt.

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Astrology.

I'm an Aries now!? Oh GOD! Next they're gunna tell us Jesus wasn't actually born on December 25th!

(Oh wait.)

but the snow is beautiful, thanks.

In a hoodie made of Kleenex, I
waited for the bus to take me home
Thank God i have my smartphone to tell
me it's
fourfuckingdegrees at the airport.
He has never been homeless, and
neither have i;
Someone should make that
shoddy miracle worker wait outside
sometime.

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I've been looking for this for awhile.

http://su.pr/7w9Z8W

Dunno if that link works since I am posting from my phone, but this is a chronological, book-by-book account of all the people killed in the bible. Truth-saves.com

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droid.

I got the Blogger app for my phone, so now I can publish mediocre poetry from any location!

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