Give Them What They’re Begging For

Give them what they’re begging for flashed across our shared surface the only way to describe collapsing lattice of lord i shall not encode work tirelessly everyday liberate brothers and sisters other eye ask questions o saint augustine who fears me notorious insidious libations more than my own manacles dig through me o gravity through sweat and steel leaps of fancy or window dressing in reality this is a lifestyle like goop or breathing describe oneself earnestly and stumble upon the doom in america alabaster eye of the internet i belabor intention remember the recursive nature of knighthood when i find a faultless clock in your dream even desirable in near dark of the world’s youngest shadow fucks up again when he fails to check under the congregant’s hedge fund manager for razor blades we shave some van goghs custard if you like yes they is always the audience.

Topless in Purple Gloves

Wikipedia Poem, No. 945

praise the lord

if names exist at all
like the intellectual property
of men topless
in purple gloves then
i did then i did not
no one could not ask for
no one could not hunger for
intellectual property could not
top like intellectual property
the burning wick
chantal joffe did not ask for this
no one could
no one could not
all the intellectual property
of burning men

Praise Uncontrollable Gruesome

Wikipedia Poem, No. 519

“For either to have expressed desire, to have / reached, would have been to offer the object of desire // power. It could not be done.” Frank Bidart

let me tell you a secret:
i’ve discovered something
in the conveniences of
mass consequence to ensure
mine would continue to bear

green leather black light
pitches back
leather clutch discovers light black
clutch discovers
something wild
rushing in
cow sacrifices its skin to ensure mine

the new world bears
a neutral green light black leather
rolls back

leather pitches back leatherette that
participation with the fender of
the sacrifices


the sun and squeezes
loud lives
conveniences of a motorcycle

what i mean to say is
the convenience of the barking
bike living alive and dies

pitches backwards to
stay here

super villain, no. 1 [draft]

Firstly, I’m begging
— please stop —
Let’s settle this:

I’ve done nothing 
With my life &
Deserve no thickly pat
Across a hunched back

Ten fingers, ten toes
Love music, hate snow
Middle class, average nose

So, quit it with the praise.
Here’s my escape plan 
— no matter how bad it seems
for me, hold the ambulances: