Fluorescent lights zooming in on
  
Somewhere between babble and godspeak. A wrench. What difference between good drug and bad drug? One keeps you plugged into producing. Or unwinding to produce again. One makes it so you never want to produce again. Ecstatic nothingness. Every employer keeps a secret list of approved drugs. It’s not that I want to keep leaking it’s that I want every living thing to keep living. With whatever painkiller they require. The stem kits come each glass pipe packed with a tiny plastic rose. See then it’s the roses being sold. All year scamming drug and commerce laws. We set the plastic roses aside. A pile. 




















This transaction may be monitored 

I miss being secret in degradation with you. Light leaking out of everything. For a short time my chest was a tree. Seed having sprouted, branches grown, then leaves. Even some birds hanging out in there. Winged and singing. Now I’m standing in CVS with toilet paper tucked under my arm trying to clock how well the cameras can see. 

 
 


















Blunt packed with crushed leaves and aphids


Stuck in my cell. A spore. Long hallway silent with light. A thousand flickers. Someplace sturdy to still my rattling, quiet my shaky ways. Your density. Deep center of gravity. It’s through roots we talk to each other. Dirt warm. Worms wriggling around in it. We pass a blunt back and forth. The worms partake, too. We get so high that clouds come in. Underground storm.



















The small dark light is Dionysian if you squint hard enough 
 
 
I quit drinking. Then I quit AA. It seemed haunted. The ghost of bootstraps whispering rigidities down my sorry spine. What doesn’t get you high. My recovery plan is haphazard. If to you the strange were strange. Coincidences that keep coming. Jerking off at odd hours. Basketball. Possession. Orange light on deep green leaves. Crumbs. My crumbs. 




















Partial


Cut away the flower. Leave me. Fruit I tuck a razor into. Too sad to come. Too horny to cry. Kath Bloom singing I can’t forget the tenderness I’ve seen. How I would like it: slowly. No urgency. No fearfulness. Every sensation its own moment. A feeling of wholeness. Not this sense of being incomplete. Separate from life. Isolate. Forlorn. 


















Reciprocal fuse with mothwings growing out bark on the ground
 
 
Weekend no antidote. I laid my craving out curbside. I walked until the want bled off. Grunt of you. All these tree trunks. Touch forehead to bark. The only name you’ll need for me is baby. My want is cloud sized. Motherboard hovering. Flattened boxes. How rain tramples. What happened when the heat gave out. Burned off for necessity of continuing. We have jobs to do, rent to pay, envelopes that say LEGAL NOTICE. Don’t come to me with that in the morning when the day is still soft from night vignettes. Meaningless. Come to me pored. Piecemeal. Now.



















Troubleshooting 
 
Daytime again. Whatever, I go with it. I have a work call with my favorite instructor. We’re supposed to be setting up her class for the semester. Instead she wants me to help her figure out how she can keep playing minecraft in her browser. I square myself against each small task as a way to keep from thinking of you. It works perfectly, no issues. 


















Dough, wrench


Raining painkillers. I grab a handful and toss them back. Throat a hallway to melting. Decouple medicine from profit. Make it more for feeling. Take it, whatever you need. Chronic pain a wheel that turns dough to stone. I dangled glass from my fingertips. I danced for stone in stone, stone surrounding me. I asked the crush of waves for assistance but it didn’t take. The whole ocean said no. Unforgettable. Most days I am waiting for you to destroy me. Will I still cum to you, then? Crying at the jaggedness of what’s now fresh but will scar, tissue bulking over the wound. A wrench. 




















Compel

Stuck on your breasts. Fixation an adhesive, blissed. The night billowing. Sounds of sirens and bugs. Take your foot off my gas. Let the car drift down the empty highway. You loved my expulsions and I was lucky for that. Can’t ejaculate in front of everyone. It’s so private. Crashes come up. Deepening. Surface layer cracking. No sense of someone being on the other end. I paint hearts on my cheeks like in old pictures of them. No angels.


















Words get licked
 
 
Woman. Man. Switch. To be among and between. A loose collection of inessentials bound in hide. I guess the people writing god fanfic back then didn’t clock us. We didn’t get in the big book. Or a lot of books. Still, continuity. Ask me if today I’m a dyke or a faggot or a blur. Witness us, belligerent. Fucking up a hiring form. Eating out the sky. 


















In that place

In the city developers cite safety as the reason for destroying public spaces. Safe for who? What they mean is sanitized, disinfected. What’s wild can’t stay. A real threat. You build a fence made of broken glass. I finger the spikes. I let them stab holes in my head. Streams pour out the holes. A fish rides atop. Just the one. The fish has dimes for eyes and a mouth of stone. Says, safety’s such a funny word. Safe for who? An ocean of feeling.


















Directives from on high 
 
 
Keep everyone on their phones. Keep everyone from kissing each other on the mouth. Keep everything from being more like hair. Free and freely growing out cracks in the pavement. Bending and curling very green. 
 



















  
 
Intimacies that did not destroy us 
  
Darkness make me dirt. For things to grow in. If someone doesn’t believe you exist as you are yell THIN HEARTED. Another way. Each killer of living things will die. It’s a statistical certainty. My friends and I take turns feeding each other. We do not skimp on seasoning. We yell THESE TITS DON’T SIGNIFY SHIT. We try to figure out what are deductibles. We pile on top of each other. The cats come see what the deal is. Climb atop. The deal is we love each other. Like this. A pile. 
 
Simone writes how people work is one person expresses their deep need and the other person runs from it. I wanted to bury myself in your need. The hole got bigger. Civilization was built for buying stuff. Anyone who serves the customer is also the customer at some point or another. The customer interaction is a cradle to contain and transfer stress. The stress of staying alive. One person needs something and the other person is obligated to provide it. This obligation is inescapable. The customer senses this. One gently. Another smells blood. Salivates.