from the final act
i can't resist practicing the lines
conversations better off in pretence
and events happening because they can
on a beach, a consommation of sand
or in a bedroom, a night by hand
whether things happen is better off, so long as
it loves whatever no one's got, saying goodnight with
thoughts that even when we speak nought, I find peace
and your happiness in spaces between signifiers

story-telling truth
fact-checking my heart
put it in your head to be gone in a
smile.

scapes

Coming into the wind, there are sounds
like skin tones. Beautiful scapes of our fears
or speechless ears.
I listened to the light on your nose when you slept,
my polar bear.

And maybe it was best kept this way,
afternoons spent alone and ideals away from home,
maybe it was said best when the best films
failed to capture us at rest
and the moments your skin breathes between the moments I see it breathing and I know it's not just the drugs but this closeness of sleeping skin I've never truly been in--
I couldn't watch in if you knew what I saw,
if you watch my claws dip into your soul and back again, just a taste,
just a baby that wails while it waits
and that is it, all it is.
The writing demon comes in musical and leaves a trap insufferable,
and it rests there, no reason
like no reason I watch your nose drip
no reason to not to blink.

So I didn't and it stayed this way another night,
my poetry legs not touching yours
though my prose will lie otherwise,
and your sleeping curl of the lips sly against the sunlight incoming
having not slept,
the waves of a night sky and the cosmic joke that is our life,
vague having laughed and writing down good-times-were-had,
no pictures will ever capture
the inarticulation of

close the door
why don't you come inside
when I close another door
after the first door
lock it with a twist
play music with unnecessary loudness
conversations with the imaginary lives of
my rich and famous side
with the same sized tits
and the same scratchy low scars
a voice of the stars when there are no stars
when stars is a four letter word
like squared
bet you thought I was gonna say
like love
but I know nothing about love,
should have said hate maybe but it's too late
for this no erase, word by word
embrace of
rudimentary, confessional, poetry -- scary
when it comes this easily.
means I have a lot to say and no way to say it else,
no one to say it to.
neon lights sing bullshit nights of hipster dancing
to top fourties grinding
when i told a business man that i can lie when i
tell the truth.
i dare myself to go a single night
without looking someone in the eye and making them smile
with derisive amusement, with devastating laughter
at my lies.
my hilarious life.

i live in great expectations.

never respect a selfish writer.