worm confetti,

a euphoric heart 

like clawing through

frozen January dirt 

to make room for 

all possible love. 

I anticipate all possible 

love to fill this whole that 

I'm digging, running out of breath

trying to make a place for 

All Possible Love to rest. 

uniqlo

all burnt yellow, resurrected canary in the coal mine; he had to tell us we left the oven on and he died again. We knew we left in on. Well, not for certain but in a teleological sense. "On" is the final state of the Oven. Eternal it will burn its way down to the core of the Earth. Who left the Earth on? It's burning. I keep thinking about it as I leave the apartment. As I leave Scream 5, as I walk up to the bar, as I sent down, as I order you a drink, as I take the train, as I walk down to the coastline, as I try and sleep. all burnt yellow, I resurrected the canary in the coal mine and when he told me the oven was still on I told him "You can rest now. We know." 

Y2K

distal shivers, a euphoric heart

is portal to immortal feeling or 

that one original, only pulse 

or seeing dust caught on fire

in that one ray of light 

breaking in through my blinds: 

I remember with fondness

my 9-year old self who 

found a trance cd and when

no one was home played 

it on the family entertainment center. 

I found my fingers then. 

I found them burning embers 

catching the morning drift upwelling

pulled into the ebb and flow of dawn, 

back into the gravitational pull of bodies

too far away, too far away, too far away 

to be within my grasp. 

My fingers found a draw and hid the cd

and I cried knowing what I'd found 

but didn't yet understand. 

 

It was Her Only Rodeo. 

Shaking, gnawing, self-assured,

bubbling over, imploding down 

into the crushed leopard booth, 

pulled onto the dance floor by

"I Wanna Dance with Somebody" 

cemented to the world soul 

by "Cranes in the Sky". 

Here are some contours of the scene: 

1) a cut and pasted fuchsia rose cutting 

the air over the alley way 

2) a mob of free radical gentrifiers, loose 

canonical priests misinterpreting codewords and flesh texts. 

But nailing it occasionally. 

3) anxious escape valves. Pull. 

When you pull the anxious escape valve, 

you encourage her to steal Muji notebooks 

as "a prefigurative politics of the Kingdom of God."

Somebody's gotta do it; somebody's gotta take that 

chance, first living: is 8 seconds on a bull, Lane Frost died for 

your sins, is your only chance and you've got an abundance. 

 

The shame of having been bitten by fleas but the empathy of being flea-ridden. 

they both linger for days, irritating and poignant, a rash and a rush of mixed feelings – 

you feel infested and a part of an infestation, a strange solidarity with dirty couches

and stray cats. Have I broken some social law or is my skin an ecosystem and is there 

no such thing as vast difference. Pontification aside, I notice myself aware of my flea bites

quite often, little magnets of shame and empathy, pushing me away from soiled couches 

pulling me towards, sending me leaping to, needing to be in my own skin. 

being a guest is always beings welcoming to eating the sawdust soup of newness and complimenting its spice. Never take off your tear goggles but take of your shoes please. Don't track inside your dirt but look through your refractive soul water. being a guest is trembling lipstick, a slapstick starvation. it's about two-fold capacity: capacity for disruption and being interrupting. can we build this house by stacking our tongues, can we lay our foundation with incomplete sentences, we just have to interrupt each other enough.  being a guest is sawdust soup drool, talking with my mouth full, eating before  things cool down, is trying to eat everything while it's too hot and having to spit it out. 

Thank you for opening up your home to me. 

Eschatological horizons are razor blades used to clean a tile floor close to the most concrete, removing all that is not that final purity in which I can finally rest. Do not come yet Lord my house is not clean but it is empty and full of rotting anticipation for sleep. 

submission to ________ 

is eating a jar of peanut butter 

without a glass of water. 

is freedom those breaths 

between bites that enable

the jar of peanut butter's final victory. 

there are too many jars

of peanut butter on this aisle,

all filled with the same thing. 

do I have to buy them all. 

If I want peanut butter,

I absolutely must. 

Sand shark

Eating dirt and 

carving brain grooves. 

Memories are emotional tunnels 

and tomorrow is sandstone 

that cracks my teeth. 

My shark soul sheds teeth and 

must keep burrowing to breathe

and blow out candles. Amen. 

Dirt tastes whole and while 

burrowing I can’t speak better to 

experiment with all the varieties 

of getting choked up. 

Fi fi fi khe he he khe St. 

Uh hu hu kha Ave

Khe khe hep hep ha Blvd. 

Mhmm mhmm mmm Parkway

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Hwy,

are memory lanes. So call me 

Maw Maw and had me a napkin 

or maybe a fork. Jesus Christ! 

Yum!

I see her bite marks 

on my feet after swimming

on my back through the lakes

both lackadaisically and pensively

I thought the pain was cramps

in my feet I paused and they drifted 

further down into the cold, nutrient richness 

of a place I, well, that grows more comforting. 

It means she likes you. 

It's a sign of good fortune.

A man told me at the gas station 

of an elderly woman who bites the feet of 

swimmers in the lakes. 

I'd spent the day swimming from 

lake to lake, finding secrets and teasing 

myself with scary thoughts like: 

Why not, maybe, and could it be. 

I think I could be. 

The scariest answer is that 

profound yes and I always feel a 

warmth in my belly that 

threatens to sink me. 

it is a dense heat. as if 

I have eaten a white dwarf star 

and I'm pulling the time-space-surface of 

the water down and my decreated

hands and feet and throat 

all orbit my stellar tummy. 

It's what I imagined drowning 

to be like and the memory 

resonates in my belly when I 

remember the still 

surface of the lake. 

Yet the bites have persisted

and now when I swallow

that future that once felt like 

paralysis is now in my belly, 

alive, anchoring me, pulling me 

into this depth by the ankles. 

nibbling. 

We found an unexpected community in Pensacola. 

Well, when they said there was no WiFi,

I said, “What the fuck is this Pensacola?”

Unexpected is a euphemism for driving off

the Bay Bridge and losing all we owned 

to water and the capacity of our lungs. 

It seemed they too have driven off the 

Pensacola Bay Bridge and decided to 

use their misfortune as a Hermeneutical Lens. 

They took care of us, showed us their 

collection of lost goggles as an argument for 

why we should call this place home. 

Look at what can be ours. 

What you thought was the worst day of your life 

is a lifestyle, a heritage, a natural phenomena 

with its own beauty. 

But it just wasn’t for me. 

I still remember their vast heartbreak

as my eyes slightly drifted,

looked at the wall, 

and I doubted their most sincere hope. 

You have to forget but you're gonna remember that we have

 the best trees. we have the best ones can we agree on that,

I'm tied to every one I've ever loved by a slinky-measuring tape-spool of yarn

falling down a flight of stairs, pawed around, push that little button when I'm slapped

right back to that first tree. 

we always just knew. knew they didn't belong to us, nah. 

They stand out that first tree

in some woods behind places that have forgotten us.

"We thought this was a mutual forget agreement.  

That is the way it is ya know don't you remember" say some woods behind 

places that have forgotten me.  

"It was. I remember"