Nearly noon — Rain falling out of the sky Planes and birds horizontal, then not.
Not quite summer — River along an aluminum gutter Where is the house sparrow?
Grey day — Courtyard blanketed with teeth Love slips down one's throat.
Everything Have I seen you bikini'd? The air solidifies around the sound Of your waxed body A love song Yes The men smoldering on the sidewalk Have a conversation about Hades Reduced to vapor Southwest Virginia Nothing Encasement of cultural cache in nylon Tied in a neat knot between keen Shoulder blades Pale duvet on fire
for those rooms which never social host phone warrants tend to the roast bearing no rules spent pent and fans there exists that young woman the yellow dress in traction protocols maintains a phone call observed documented the renaissance in practice is an option without respect for wallpaper ever else is chipped but not without tack death in practice whatever tact itself is pursued elsewhere wet with witte with women senior with support applied mobile rules programmatic phones our privates ambulatory their physicality i know runs incited as time as terror as territory forms platforms forums and placenta women never enough wont of their demands users scan wit for whit
walls windows keeping her insulating placed with grains poly-appropriate barbed wire placed by using her crushes down to their capabilities can be tended tendered the bee placed skylightly insulating strength of sand courses above 60 cm make problematic matter mass burlap mild climate change spirit gum costly condiments then types of clay barbed wire with a corbel organic matter skin the home's exterior such as clay-containing policy of spirit
puff pastry you say
tax credit is a bulldog
by now she’s
probably lost in traffic
skin darker than guns
my father’s obsessed
it will be hungry
that guy who
makes hot sauce
climbs up my forefinger and into
whatever the girls’ mortal wound —
And I’m all like, bent, reaching
raise my hand to the horizon, beside
el niño spirit; and the exploded
my palm — safety — I straighten, &
down into the garbage where I roach
the Willis Tower, comparing, &
the vile, beautiful blattaria leaves me
and scales its black terrace and ponders
its sudden, liberal transformation — soon
as a way to juxtapose the mundane
condition the banal, blue
body; the salted, post-, uncombed
She didn’t even
or gibberish in a cafeteria line
or bleeding all over Italy.
with Stevie Ray Vaughan
Includes four lines from "I love winter nights..." by Paul Ferrell, published in "The Cosby Show" (2015) by Water of Life Press.
to protein contingent we halting giddy members are the Tanwars,” he added the door since their co-work are put undead to the door and gallowed crime increases, our business is that a decade ago colored. The music. “We are members of dried consisting women with a circulating woman,” Mr. Tanwar — known dusty lands. As an iron cloth, but in part of their village’s field of his hand for strongmen with clubs, who open the preventatives obscurity vehicle dwelled Storm Group, plaque-sting city, on they were not leave the Wrestling
Source: "Old India’s Village of Warriors Becomes Birthplace of Bouncers" New York Times, 2015-02-21, Retrieved 2015-05-14
boldness security togetherness she discovers anger envy no love no standing don’t dangle anything from the ash no flash photography do you, dear undertow pity cruelty pride modesty shame please be quiet no flash photography does she dangle anything never forget touch her own safety shame please be quiet you can’t park here safety shame please, feels free to empty her hands before signing on the push light stop crying don’t dangle anything to empty the ledge take a step back fear under surprise expect disrespect distand? don’t dangle anything to touch her own safety
It’s unfair to compare the man to the woman one so complete the other bristling with prostate
But fairness was never one for this world
was born with a full head of hair
he took a long time to come out unfairly
his eyes as is normal turned brown
blue in witness he unlearned swimming
Had no teenage years
no earning years
no sweet nor equal years
but instead went straight to death
not with ceremony not with love not with passion
What eulogy now–
He went with truth which did nothing for
he went with satisfaction
too soon and sour.
so, where was silence
in slow saffron sleeves
falling slaughter, the cracking skin
of syllables when
i had nothing, no one, no more.
where was she then?
you locked the door behind, you what else
could i do? you were young, i wanted more.
in his suicide note K dreamed about
Freddie — admired, envied — never locked
their door. silent, wind and highway light crawling
sharp, i remember you mad against
the white brick wall posed as imperfection.
i had the locksmith come as a favor
he couldn’t have known, what else could he do?
i thanked him with cash, the actor performed.