WORTAUFSCHÜTTUNG

WORTAUFSCHÜTTUNG

shovel mouthed, you dig
a ghost of a grave, a
maskless leer—here we

dance on pages torn
from spinebroken books,
somethere when you wake,

take a swig of chemical green
mouthwash, minting your
tongue anew, a new hole,

bottomless in your yawp,
your coughed confession,
your ill-wished wants,

somehere we make a sigil
of roads, an open way to
ward you off, with your

wallcrusted soul funneling
wirebarb sharp syllables
past the careless guardposts

of your yellowing incisors.

EVERYTHING IS AHISTORICAL

EVERYTHING IS AHISTORICAL

your crossed wood
way, a cord,
the set of stones
called venerable, a
land found and found-
ed on the backs of ghosts,
all the spilt type left
to stain once virgin
sheets.

DON'T GO THINKING

DON'T GO THINKING

the earth yawns / Bored and disgusted, to do us down

a new

Gordian

knot, a

:;:

wag your

fucking tongue.

we are

all not

:;:

a.

CROWED

CROWED

cast your stomach into
the river, augur, let

the current carry away
the smoke, sweet and
skullsick, your

legs only need to be
an hour long, you

hope.

AWE TOME KNELL

AWE TOME KNELL

depart your brass
warm air, your
paper shredded skin,

all now is
leaving, leaving us
to chase behind,

ushered along by
some well deserved
chill.

FOMER COUNTRY

FORMER COUNTRY

the moon leers,

'I am no

singer'

fuck you-

r gutter

throat.

Be done.

Be gone.

ASIDE

ASIDE

rubiconical, decided.

you make your mouth

into the door you slip

out through.

a maze you 'forget'

to bring the twine

of your eyes into.

'stead your fingers

seek the limits of that

enclosed path.

you left the end already,

you left your shoes and

feet, but your tongue and

fingertips will never cease.

BIRCHES

BIRCHES

twinned and windswayed,

skin torn by the boys,

overeager and dreaming

the scraps are blank paper,

but they will never write

upon them, not about your

beauty, anyway, more likely

it's destined instead to be

just more kindling for

their unwise fires.

“SOMETIMES I THINK I HAVE THE DREAMS CONTINOUSLY EVERY MINUTE OF THE DAY, PERHAPS WE ALL DO...”

“SOMETIMES I THINK I HAVE THE DREAMS CONTINOUSLY EVERY MINUTE OF THE DAY, PERHAPS WE ALL DO...”

time is a slumber

drowsily devouring

each day

collecting along the

webbed cracks of

an empty—you know

what belongs here,

if you don't, your

spinal fluid still

does.

EXTRICATE

EXTRICATE

doorlegged you

remain six paces

a'head, willing

prey, unwilling,

your paper-horned

Actaeon doggedly

behind.

THE NEXT, BEST THING TO HELL

THE NEXT, BEST THING TO HELL

re-damned by some

falling sky,

your taste, as others

discretely sample

your flesh, marinated

in a mortality made

more sweet by our

willful ignorance

of all things.

I'VE SEEN THE END OF THE WORLD [from the vault]

I'VE SEEN THE END OF THE WORLD

your smile was devoid of edges,

all uniforms and marching orders

a tongue leading down into the

pit of your faith, to which doubt

has taught me how to crawl, where

i hold my breath, push away the

ghosts of your eyes and fall into—

god made a nothing / out of nothing.