charge

the tv is confusing my i love yous
the still neck    the same
slamming    don’t tell you to stop or
anything just frown for hours
run down a hill     

that hill’s a bitch

he said from on top of us  
don't hate it don’t hate i
don’t feel oppressed or
anything today just
afraid  

i wanna be back on that deck
and watching the lightning
it hasn’t stormed so good
in the intervening years    our marriage
solved the tree problem
but created an electricity problem

This Poem is Titled Mystery Woman

Only respond to one person only
one at a time. I’m saying Go.

Get.
lay yourself down.
Don’t build

a fire you can’t rely on. Dire.
Hate.    
Dire.      
Boldly. Don’t
have to be pretty enough or

go slow Smooth
like cream. Smooth
like sheets. Smooth
Like motherfucking Rob Thomas.

I stage it. You’re supposed to think we’re in love

via picture.  Look at us.  Looking each
at an other.  It’s a rude thing to ask  
“can I stick my dick inside you?” I’m eating
to keep from saying the other rude things.  
Did you have trouble walking through
the hallways in school. Did you have trouble 
asking for a padlock.  Eventually
I did it.  I was wearing gym clothes
under overalls and a t-shirt.  I thought it looked
like jeans and a t-shirt.  Really I’ve been ruining
my own life, bleeding from go-nowhere vein things.  
I don’t know if there’s something wrong with everyone,
but it’s somewhat helpful to think “oh my brain wiring’s
making each day such a struggle.”  I can imagine
being a real human, but I can’t quite embody it.  
I look in the mirror and I’m a little drunk
and my eyes are such a pretty color.  
We’re play acting.  I am.  Did you like it.  
Do you like what I’m doing.  
I said I’m pretty goddamn sure
I have aspergers.  And I’m pretty good
at masking it.  I can compensate.  JUST LOOK
AT MY COPING MECHS.  Here, be pretty.   Here,
be a bravery. You don’t have to think
about where to look at the yes.

Goose Love

buttoning your shirt
you’re a beauty
are biting my shoulder

come about it when i think

walk hand in hand to create
the sort of goose love gets you
through the middle

we made a fog up
walked around in it

We were twisting and eating overripe strawberries
from the vines in your backyard.  I see houses
when I close my eyes.  When I wake up
I'm thinking about my finances.

My car stops working and evaporates around me.
My car stops working and we have to drive in neutral
for 3 miles to get home.  My car slowly disappears
and I'm pushing against ground, trying
to make the frame move, but it's gone.


There was a driveway
leading into the strawberry patch.
We had everyone over
for duck and potatoes and gravy.

Feelings Poem

I know ultimately fucking
Jess Feltz and Justin Flowers
in that dream doesn't mean I want
to fuck you most. Nightmare
sexual scenarios vs normal
sexual scenarios. You
taking a bug leap.  Me deepthroating.
The joyful expression on somebody's
face. Facets. Leaning over the desk
or sink. We used to fuck on objects
and I don't want to try anyone else
if it makes me sick inside. Sink inside
I'm burning and not in the burbs anymore.
Still singing that song. Eyes stinging.
I love you or I am in love with you
is what lust does. And lost us.  Here I go
ol mourning corpse again. Fearing.
Accepting. I'm riding it all fr you baby.
Yum yum. Rub a little ointment down
Ah that's the spot
where once we sat and talked.
I've been writing about you since before
I died and moved to hell.  I want
to have my bra off but I couldn't. A pain
in the split of my back bones. Do u think
I'm prez material. RU thinking
I'm pretty.

This Fruit is Bad for You

I GUESS I WILL EVENTUALLY ALIENATE EVERYONE.  
I’LL BE EATING TWO EGGS EVERYMORNING. FRUIT
IS BAD FOR YOU. THIS ROTTING
FRUIT IS BAD FOR YOU. DON’T TAKE ME TO YOUR CONTAINER. I KNOW
HOW TO GET THERE. I KNOW THE POLICE
THEY GET YOUR BIKE BACK. SOMETIMES
WRITE REPORTS ABOUT KOI FISH. I BET IT’S HARD
TO BE POLICE. I STILL DON’T GIVE A FUCK.
IF YOU TRY TO GIVE ME A TICKET BECAUSE I COASTED
OFF THE ROAD AND TO THE RACK, WE WILL RIDE
TOGETHER FOR 8 HOURS AND WE WILL WONDER
WHAT THE OTHER’S REALLY THINKING. FRUIT IS BAD
FOR YOU. THIS ROTTING HONEYDEW IS SEETHROUGH.