David Lynch 7:20 AM

David Lynch would
wear a tan coat
and have a grey
quiff all his life.
As a new switch cut
into the main trunk;
wears cologne too.
Tin can all semblences in.

The work of old boots
gathered into
a rubber band
that'll not last;
women too, that'll
sustain a facial tattoo;
or a dream tattoo
grows and still grows.

Passing Away 7:20 AM

Why we dated; supposedly
awning of liquor for some time.
What behind bangs? What behind
'em?! Astringent for nought.
Jaw line also is for nought.
By virtue of their being chosen
forty two men hence turn
to forty six quickly. Oh my god,
quickly. Truncated, fucked so
well as to be sleeping. Until
coming hurt not in the body.

My bangs grow out over time
and will not say that whatever
surceases because does though is
so dull.

a Tally 7:20 AM

Got to fifty today in tallying
fuckable men. You were only
three of these; David, Percival (!),
Brad.

Love 7:19 AM

Through ignorance and being
very busy this place tells me
to "make do." All of the walls
say it. When I am sleeping
and when I masturbate. Brick
take. And I took that brick
home heartily. And I am
here. Smear of new printed
material so new printed material.

So here and farther, though
transatlantic cables do connect us
so less than this. Love
I am sharing my drugs with you.
I am growing up a new child
having all of the right things been done.
I am smart, vocal, have written
a short novel of space bananas,
am broken, unbearable, go to good school.

Having Carried It 10:56 PM

If I could befriend you
and the loving surcease
even tangentially
I'd begin by degrees.
Efficacy of this measured
in less drinking. Or I'd
move to the West Coast
like everyone seems to.
But Seattle and Portland deadening too.
San Francisco? does
the fog mean finding?

Increasingly finds life
living. And the little things;
facial hair, whether or not
to buy that breakfast sandwich,
if I should be dating
your old boyfriend are all
often; keep being. We
could eat everything. With
the color all leeched out.
What is in your leather brief
-case? Let us smoke together.

Waves are like this too, I
have seen them scattered
on a beachhead, here, some
twenty meters further, still
some two or three yards
past that, crashing. The moon,
she decides incrementally
how they whence, but not as this.

The old chest superimposed
over the new chest. It comes
out less, wrong. Wish you
could love the parallel scars
on my forearm I sustained
as a boy when dropping
the box with the jig-saw on top,
laid teeth up, and fell upon it.
And for you to be angry
that such a box existed and
that I should have carried it.

Offal that is full
of veil of wispiness threads
that were your buckshot.

This Thursday 10:25 PM

On Thursday I will throttle you.
Drech of the week thinner, then
bacchanal on the tongues of
all choristers I am. And you too!

What loveliness when the grey
hairs return to your temples, my
choking the color from them. I
will not lie to you and say "This

is not a poem of my unrequited
love." Because it is. And how you
had so potential to make me
a better person, and I you. And I

am really trying to hold on until
Thursday. And you die in my
hands, and I you. And they
reconstruct us as one vilianesse.

Seeing 8:15 PM

I don't know what
my body means
but finally seems
sensible, peeing
in a you-adjacent
urinal and you peeing
too.

Boyhood never was
like this but not
for lack of trying.

the Exodus 8:51 PM

Should this not be an exercise in faith
and not despondency? I wont to hear
you in whatever way again voraciously.

Up ended, again. Over the roakes, past
car crash-site, over (even) glowing piles
of embers to arrive at this. Ta! Fare thee

weller upon leaving than at first arrival.
Or fare farther, however. Woods sloughed
off this too while crossing through them.

'A psychosexual thriller' of waiting. Offed
these same woods, however made to
planks and into the water of not one

man, but three men: the overages of them
that pushed a space out in the sand
and made it glass by heating, so that

no one thing can live there afterwards;
water may collect there happily and
stagnate. And covering up this little space

that's been made by whomever.
The lip above of the turned-in ends of basin.
Why're they there? To corrupt this? To hold

this in? I remember laughter. Not from
anyone, but thrice. I recall the taste of liquor
that had no properties, and ice

that made one draw together, steele ones
-elf against the coming cold. Made one
consider cutting something out of life.

Something Glorious is About to Happen 8:05 PM

May I know less about
your face please?
It's contours where pores
give way to hairs
sporadically. Jesus
Christ was once your
age, who helped lepers
and befriended them
—and whores! No
filthless wretch among them
filthless. But I You.

Your mentor is a farce,
I think; the cartoon part
of Animus; enough
for you to emulate, dully.
But who knows how
good music evolves these
days. Their prancing with
bass held out like a forecourt
of debauchery before their
pelvis. Litter of red plastic
tumblers. I love you.