tooth skin

april has been a weird month
and i didn’t want this to be some analysis
but i’m really struggling to come up with something
and it’s 11:46 as I’m writing this
and i’ve found that the pressure
has a way of putting me in the right space
it achieves that procrastinating hyperactive focus
like riding a singularity
like super novas
and a bunch of other cliche expansive imagery
then again everything is a cliche
it’s like laying a base of everything known
and then adding your pinnacle
to give the next person their step up
i’m someone’s stepping stone too
and i use others as mine
in an intellectually evolving context to clarify
this isn’t some literal face stepping
or figurative pole climbing
i’m getting further
from where i might have been going
and i’m realizing it’s 11:49
if i’m going to make it
which seems unlikely
i should figure out a point
like what did april get me this year
what did writing every day achieve
what points did it prove
did i improve
i don’t know
i feel those are assertions
to be made
not me
but i will say i’m relieved
it’s over
this is over
the month
the poem
and i survived it
if i can make it through
the next seven minutes

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nocturnal exhibit

artificial light seeps in
from behind the inch-thick pane
a crowd flattens into silhouette
just for a glimpse
but nothing happens
this is nothing unusual
and the spectacle
they say
is worth the waiting
in the mean
there are mutterings
those who have waited hours to see it
a frantic musk permeates
the long sprung carpet
nothing happens
hours pass
attendance pulses
as the impatient are culled
and nothing happens
finally the last of the hopeful
are swept out with the peanut shells
and cigarette butts
craned eyes glued to corners
as bodies go unwillingly
to exit doors
but the effort is for naught
and as it turns out
the sloth had been dead for days

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pro-choice egg thief

lizard trilling excitement
a clutch unchaperoned

embryo sucks down

load the remainder
undamaged in throat

a precarious matter
making sand tracks back
to the gap called home

desert harsh
one mother’s children
dinner for another

becomes an offering
for the actualized

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danger: keep out

frayed sneaker rubber catches
on raised and split slab
denim sticks
but the pause
and retuned
she notices the derelict building
the way the plywood is peeled up
from the corner of the window
like an invitation that she can’t say no to
and the sign warning against it
is just encouragement
and there isn’t anyone around
caring enough to notice
she supposes
a quick peek can’t hurt
more shifting eyes
and sure enough
dry rot makes doors of barricades
with little leverage
and her slightness gets through quickly
and easy
she lands
a plume shoots up from the dust-bed
as eyes adjust
crepuscular rays riddle the deteriorating bar
and the air is the musty rosy
of mold and funeral parlors
shards of mirror mark toothy
the temple of bottle
now un-stocked and patron-less
green dots the artificial wooden paneling
and she wonders if any amount of scrubbing
would be enough
as the sound of glass rolling
beyond the bathroom door
makes her drop her phone
turned snapshot processor
on stinging knees
she spiders frantic hands
through the rubble
to recover the precious object
something between flesh and bone
but colder than anything she’s ever known
delicately rests a hand on her shoulder
fuck the phone
she skitters back out the window
unwilling to discover their owner
two blocks closer to home
lungs heaving fiery and ragged
she grabs a glance backward
the vice grip loosens slightly
but she doesn’t stop running
front door
dead bolt
back door
kitchen knife
more locks and a chair for good measure
cover and bed and she has to stop shaking
she begins to rationalize
to lie
it’s alright

and nearby
her phone rings

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there was music in her ears*

dreamy sea bobbing
swaying robes
walking roads
pensive brow
a bamboo thicket
but beautiful
and terribly invasive
she watches the gull
smash an oyster
on the slate shoal below
and life goes on

*this is a quote from the song South American Eye by Dogbowl
it only has anything to do with anything
because i was listening to it at the time
i also highly recommend it.

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the empty orchestra
an insignificant sound
copper coiling rounds
sky-bound battery
makes little progress
against glass sliding outside

black-mat tar-blanket
liquid bluing makes clean
cut grass
lazy torrents
feed the bay
flotsam paralleling jetty
the water here heavy
and deadly to most forms
especially when it gets in

harpoon-hook proboscis
in lonely winter inhabitants
foisted domestics
relearning the feral root
their truth
a 50-gallon warmth necessity
like life in a sulfur pit
the trees bear no fruit

a sign warns of lingering
as if it’s legally binding
but the asterisk says it’s not
a rebellious nature
shouts discourse
against the implication

black drips upward
reflections pool
in the darkness
where the temple lies
reverence and alms paid
inscriptions in service
to the primal creativity
the deity under the bridge
belongs to

the monks’ road
bifurcates repetitious
and the sacred
is no right answer
like piety and tragedy
should have a laugh over drinks

the all
a purely speculative exercise
to pass away the ensuing hilarity

and in the distance
a fervent dead-man’s-grip sincerity
clutching skeleton fingers chant
the end is nearly here

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candles lit in round
drop the background
head drift begins body-heavy
the correct configuration
of gestures and tongue clicks
begin a quantum shift
bending causality
to meet desire
when done correctly
it will be as if
nothing at all
is out of the ordinary
but that’s the illusion

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