Not e’en spring—
a thousand parked cars;
lonely nights.

O, please, give me your sour & sweet poisoned,

juicy starburst dripping with the rich twist o’ cyanide-pill chalk,

heart-spiking sugar sharks,

thick aquariums o’ soft & safe booze

to fill my villi stomach with revolting microbes,

& causing my membrane to flap…

Year-end songs—
Flutters so much. Please rest,
bloody heart.

..to kill ‘nother day,

till they’re all dumped ‘way in 1 freeing slam—

¡& those slams!

dig my teeth in that always-itching hand…

That’s what I need…

Wenn ich will zu überleben, muss der infektion sterben.

¡But it just laughs @ my flaccid face!—

bubbling ‘way safe in its cozy case

so smooth…

& I get to collect all the cracks so cooool.

…& how my ears spread spears straight into my eyes

from the cries o’ my nails you roughed up with your glass.

Aber wenn ich brauche…

wenn ich brauche…

ich brauche…

necesito escapar…

It’s not o’er.

It’s not o’er being o’er.

Not by a long throw.

C’est tout que je sais.

There will be glue,

& when there’s glue,

there’s paste,

& when there’s paste,

we’ll erase all the cracks,

& drink.

& I am so very thirsty, please.

Und das ist was ich brauche…

das ist was ich wirklich brauche…

[…e poi venne la statica…]

¿O?

¿Truly?

Well, OK…

I guess I’ll just have the Chocolate Coke, ‘stead.

Thank you.

Chocolate cola:
evening stream o’ japes.
Warmth & chill.

Under God’s glown gaze
my flaky face melts like snow:
heavenly winter.

Ciao, adieu,
& sayonara
till next time.

Still bubbling–
sidewalk spit.

To all the

chewy chocolate that’s

‘tween my teeth,

to the tears

o’ stormy clouds both

sour & sweet,

to early

evenings’ smeared lemon

restless lights,

to bus wheels’

jingling thunder-struck

keys on kites,

to flapping

jackets that make the

cool winds warm,

to clapping

firs both ecstatic

& forlorn,

to the tea

& coffee scorching

cherry leaves,

to the bats

that flap their purple

tapestries,

to night planes

giving me a wink

as they pass,

to sluggish

November lunchtime’s

foggy mask,

to the wood

spiders chillin’ on

the drywall,

to skylarks

shrinking into blues

without calls,

to pop-up

ghosts drenched darkly with

neon green,

to buttered

toast drenched starkly in

strawberries,

to the gift

that mixes the moon

& the sun,

to the warm

opposites present

within the

light that’s only bright surrounded

by so many crevices so

dark. Don’t not be gloomy: fountains

freeze next year still always missed, though,

still when I watch shadow pines

brushing far away I find

like I almost like to pine

death’s demise

shaped like fallen maple twigs.

Autumn’s cut so thin.

Hope I get to ‘gain begin…

Such pastel
leaves lodged in such tight
sidewalk nooks.

dragons fight
autumn colors man
on mushrooms