nightmares

long legs
dried earth
compact
there are no lips
just bone
into milquetoast skin
age rumpled
deep stains evidence
it’s been chewing something
something that bleeds
relief or terror
that it has no
obvious sensory equipment
but so many legs
and there is doubt and hope
that whatever was swallowed up last
left it satisfied
either way
a rickety millepede pulsing
moves this way
but feet won’t carry
treadmill effort
the push does not yield
and it’s late
the realization
like diving the fuck in
and every strike is
cat paw declawed
like something light
and enjoyable
compared to the strength
of the worm body
the only think stronger
the muscles that drive
such dull teeth

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status update

hopeless
waffles
less hopeless
gluten
maple
sugar
fuck me
hopeless
horseshoe crab
out to see
something
something
less hopeless
bandages
signs point
heavy lead
sucked out
social security
fuck me
no coverage
no signal
no point
no hand
but mine
choking everything
less alone
misery
company
all jazz
less hopeless
how selfish
no
feel
me

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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
by
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
still
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
unproblematic

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

potentiality
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
recalibrates
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
upstairs
bedroom
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
non-native
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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