china grade stock, jade

little bits of green following me around
room to room, pollen on the prowl.
lost a lighter for a moment to sangia's sway
but like all good things, it comes back round.

you got up in my face all ugly again love
your red lips on my neck, horns in the most
probable places.  still i give you my glove,
like poetry's in the purse or some tangled post

 crossed in a  metacyline moonrise ,
accidentally, and now you have to wear
a porcelain mask just to survive.
have a strawberry heart and some air

take in salts from mineral seas, saran
wrap off those extra inches, the cure
is so much like the disease, only sans
that filled in other

















ahhh gagh




whatever. i keep wanting to write what's on the wall
it's like i curate all these objects that have come into
my house. my house, there i said it i'm an owner again
disrespective of who ever else is living here i'm an owner again
because i have i have , like , responsibility for it, and
i just wanted to make every corner interesting
like the bend in the range top, the two missing burners, baking soda still
in the empty holes where the cats left piss which choked us out
of the house and set of the fire alarm it was so toxic, don't
under most circumstances, heat cat piss. however, if you were to collect it
and add it to a molotov cocktail whatever didn't get burned off would be gassed out
so keep that in mind for the coming wars my friends. the wars the wars
there will always be wars with us. if not in the military bases of crimea
then on the hollywood screens, as a devastation so thorough its consequences
still fund the hunger games, sociologically speaking, which of course has led
to the glorification of women warriors , wars new face, feminized by the pink
bow and arrow sets available at the family dollar toy section in time for easter.
you gotta watch that, promising shit with no delivery. one day she will be done.

well, it's late again. to have someone watching your every move,,it's like, hey man
get a life. i know you got things to do. and also we disagree about cats. the sangria
was good tonight. i added sugar. to make up for the cookies i didn't eat.
to make up for the booze i keep drinking. so no wonder i'm puffy and depressed.
alcohol does that to me. i need to stop drinking so much. start writing again.
all these ways to begin writing again. maybe if i do, love will do the things he needs to do
instead of always watching me, waiting for me to either smiile or frown.
that's like a baby thing. it's weird but my shoulders hurt too much to examine it like i should.
i'm sitting on the blue ball, trying to keep my head straight
and my back straight, and pump some spinal fluid
into my spine, but this pain is is like