February 25, 2017 § Leave a comment
the question isn’t why was he such an embarrassing artist and so terrible to you, but why did you let such an embarrassing terrible person inside you? you were so worried about what he was worried about, his peepee. standing curved over, knees bent, wearing his birthday suit and a hemp choker. a catch for the ages, the paragon.
the ladies before he existed and the ladies born after his ashes turn to ashes–they don’t know what they were missing with his humped back, bare feet on the tile and the vanity lights half burned out.
understandably, it’s hard to know what you’re doing with your life when you’re concerned with how much your pubic hair has grown back. you can’t see at all. i mean see the situation with him for what it is, but also the pubic hair that’s hiding from the mirror hung on the back of the bedroom door. and if you try and lay on your back on the bed halfway across the room, if you try to crane up and see your valley’s forest layout in the mirror, you won’t get the details you’re looking for, only an image of a wounded animal knocked on its back with its legs curled up, rocking itself to get back on its feet.
he was such an unrepentant pyschopath it’s a wonder the universe has forgiven you at all for shtupping so low. even all these years later you’re still trying to figure out what about all that could have possibly felt right.
May 15, 2016 § Leave a comment
Holy moly driving around, a warm breeze coming from all directions. i write every twelfth thought. something like that is only half-grounded anyway. if it was full-grounded: what a shudder. i have not the constitution.
my skin gets darker in the summer, let the beat drop and hold the prayer close — even the permanent marker on the t-shirt fades. overall, nothing is permanent, not even that buzzing sound coming from underneath your clothes.
it does not feel like the end of the year, because the weather is such a disappointing person. this year i wrote “ugh” and “sigh” on papers that i’ll never give out, realized students do not know my writing. does not matter.
the way the t-shirt hangs. where it drapes is like an invitation.