Stateless yet nuclear
The father is in full lux
Passive aggressive heat fights
Category: poetry
November
Maybe I need eternal sleep,
Or, maybe I am just too weak.
I like to be alone.
Decomposing their bones.
Steel toed boots in November sun,
Fist fights, pity sex, and dad’s gun.
Hold your last breath,
Distracted death.
Staving and sick?
Take your pick.
I’m having a blast,
I’m too cool at last.
Locke
He told me I was beautiful.
We talked under a peter pan decal.
He took photos and everything was shiny,
We were young,
And we drank a lot.
I wish I could remember what we talked about.
He invited me into his cozy home,
And made me feel so welcome.
He was regrowing lettuce on the kitchen table,
He could hit a bong more elegantly than anyone I have ever seen.
He had cute dogs,
The room was hazy,
And we drank a lot.
I felt like it was the beginning of an exciting friendship.
But that was two years ago,
And I don’t know what to do with these feelings.
I saw him at work,
July,
I was buying Canada day stickers and glow sticks.
I got anxiety when I saw him at the cash.
He had his hair in a ponytail,
He had great eyebrows,
We made plans that didn’t happen.
But,
life has a great way of making plans for us.
I am so sorry this happened to him,
We all hurt for him,
He was too young.
The small amount of time we shared,
I knew he was special,
I hope he knew it too.
American
I cut your manicured lawn,
And fuck your mom.
I’m a suburban serial killer,
Empty and looking for filler.
I am perpetual depression,
And major in constant aggression.
I am obsessed,
At best.
I clean your shiny pool,
And play you like a fool.
A glimmer in my eye,
Watching your family die.
I make minimum wage,
Get high off rage.
Trophy wives,
Wasted lives.
I vacuum the pastel rug,
And sell your son drugs.
He can be just like me,
Trapped in suburbia eternity.
Bottle Nosed and Face Down
I wish I had giant eyes
The kind of eyes that are so glassy
And so glossy
that they cannot be real
I wish they would take over my sight
Allowing for hyper sight
Seeing through
Seeing over
Seeing who I am
I wish my eyelashes went further than my brow
Catching tears before they descend
Cupping the salty liquid
Returning it
Carving raw designs into my forehead
Telling me who I am
I wish the crook of my neck
Was large enough to consume my family
Store them with me
Even when they are long dead
Decomposed
Their bones would become mine
Intertwined
Infinte
Showing me who I am
I wish I had a buzz cut
So short
You can see every mark
Every scrape
On my scalp
The kind of hair that makes you question gender
They can decide who I am
Tentacles
She has covered me in her sticky adhesive again,
Latex free?
Love free.
It impedes my vision,
Tugging at my eyelids.
Forcing the tears,
I have held for so long.
Sterile heart.
Sterile mind.
There is nothing sterile about me.
I’m tarnished,
No amount of latex free adhesive can glue me back together.
Glaring, I can see her smiling.
Ridiculing me.
As if I wanted,
The sticky tentacles of her caring.
Wall Ball
The rails were cold on my hands
but so was the coffee we share with a straw
Topics of conversation trail off
into the luminous glow of childhood
Like the rules of kickball suppressing
we write our names on the cement walls
we watch the smoke crawl out of your house
I set my hand in fresh gum
warm from the chew
pale strings flow in the windless room
far enough to make us leave
Grazing those cold rails
we do not step on the cracks
they are toxic
and will hurl us back into the past
Practice makes perfect
when denying our lives and
living under rocks
Cydonia
In a polyethylene lawn chain,
Sitting.
Starring at at the pea stone gravel,
Until the stones darken and melt together.
All the while, smelling the smoke.
The Glorified health conscious nothingness.
Spider webs but no spiders.
A mechanically driven government operation.
Handing out brochures,
Coffee stained, and catching dust endlessly.
Buy lives,
on a lawyers desk.
Stare until the images blend together.
Stare until it becomes the world,
It becomes the world.
Questioning in the Drive
Do
You
Have
Sandal socks
Or
Did you
Just
Force your socks
To fit in
Your sandals ?
Forgotten Balsamic
Hung on a Sunday,
Filing for a loan.
Sewing buttons back on pants,
Still afraid of the family dog.
Longing for ice cream on the steps of the general store.
Aesthetically pleasing 99 cent lollipops,
Unfinished hashbrowns.
A lettuce eating competition,
And stakes are high.
Starrfishing 