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sleep with the ’95 hairwaves sleep is nothing holy sleep is my fingers in your hair sleep is sleet falling fast sleep is walking through the city crying silently sleep is throwing yourself under the bus sleep is saving someone under the bus sleep is us whispering enmeshed under the bus sleep is everyone on the bus sleep is cock and angles sleep is a 767-300 with 30 degree flaps sleep is the sun bouncing off those flaps sleep is TV Tokyo 7 sleep is the five mountains and the Ottoman enterprise sleep is empire glorified sleep gory time sleep is the gothic magic of the steeple sleep is the phallic vomit of the bible sleep is and isn’t me on freak days

sleep is us on the weekends sleep is sleep sleep is


Horny cornucopia everyday i see the yellow-gray city and something smells like her grayish hair a daughter’s sickly hairs when she’s picked herself up post-mad joycee’s dancing around mad understandably disappointed is the party chatter but mating’s on their minds endless closeness of sopping behinds (you know the type don’t be shy) when you force your chance—it’s all kaput from here i point with fertility from here on out my Durer prints are obvious here lies the poet i feel the leukemia in me fifty years away I say hello i’m ready to go but first let me consume! pick up an imperial heritage pick up the phone no one’s there pick up the messages and whatsapps (no one’s responding) pick up the pieces as we shrug off the bourgeoisie only to return to fair trade coffee i am swimming but i am drowning i am breathing in the shower and no one is washing me except the taint of my fair trade coffee i feel the doubt in me the two teaspoons of rejection the snapchat colourless dejection i got this all for free my senseless days the taste of fair trade coffee


20’s Loneliness when I take the bus the spooks jog along everyone is wearing a sombrero of shame, as you journey southwards but of course, I got drunk again and pretended the world aligned with my thoughts you can call me “crybaby.” take me away call me pinocchio face atop and around we saw the hoarse ground the horses go round and tramp along everybody’s taking it said the jade behind the bong gah! fuck you I thought i’m dreaming trouble is there was no dream just the regrets of a dirty seam when I take the bus to my health it can’t be contained everyone is un-noticing something is amiss


The city 11115555 racing home a tomb the valiant tasted eat ones sliding slipping infancy infamy fifty phantoms at random poking holes in urban fandom a pair of schizoid eyes freak all chatter they’re out there roving with scraping speed all the streets cave to their need grossing engorging on tumult angry texts about offense and ferris wheels orange peels big ole’ steins fifty cals sunlight splatter eye the moon more conclusively and you’ll have the laurels but you’re dizzy aintcha no resting here poseur


Lullaby to a Forty oz I am ecstatic Hold the gun to my temple see if i’ll cluck backwards motherfucker burmistrz kicked me in the head again and again that’s some real spice sugar, sugar, life is bound to be nice with motherly eyes she asks “why do you act so fucked up poser?” as if I sat in the library making rainbows bleed i’ve always known i’m a suicide case going home


Hyde Park when idea and reality crash Everything becomes incomprehensible we walk in the squelch of the leaves underfoot and talk about your sister to a bar but let’s be real I talk the talk about alcohol but it’s all been downhill like a sisyphean joke eighteen I was vomiting in a ruski’s bed after wine and pong and vomiting in the morning all along covered in parental shame like a semen-blood custard nineteen i was vomiting phoenix-style warsaw nights and garden days chips, taxi ramblings twenty i sunk twenty-one the top bunk shifted i took away my fancy aspirations and crafted them in stacks of sixty-four lost in a world of cubes and guns twenty-two i vowed to speak my mind enough of this enough of that here I am in hyde park watching reality pirouette away


poems about the littledivergence